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CHARMS 


COUNTER-CHARMS. 

BY 

MARIA  j.  MCINTOSH, 

AUTHOR  OF  "TWO   LIVES,    OR,   TO   SEEM   AND   TO   BE  ;"    "AUNT   KITTT'i 
TALKS  j"    "  CONQUEST  AND  SELF-CONQUEST,"  ETC.  ETC. 

"  Whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap."  —  GAL.  vi.  7. 

-  "  None 

But  such  as  are  good  men  can  give  good  things  ; 
And  that  which  is  not  good,  is  not  delicious 
To  a  well-governed  and  wise  appetite."—  COMBS. 

SIXTH  EDITION. 


NEW-YORK 

D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  200  BROADWAY. 
1851. 


Entered,  according  to  Act.  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1848. 
BY  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


'  V 
CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Quin.  Is  all  our  company  here  ? 

Bottom.  You  were  best  to  call  them  generally,  man  by  man,  accord- 
ing to  the  scrip. 

MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

THE  foliage  around  Mr.  Beresford's  country  mansion  had 
assumed  the  gorgeous  coloring  of  autumn,  and  glowing  be- 
neath the  bright  sun  of  a  clear,  still,  October  morning, 
lent  somewhat  of  its  own  brilliant  tint  to  the  delicate  cheek 
of  a  young  girl  who,  standing  in  the  piazza,  overshadowed 
by  drooping  elms  and  clustering  vines,  was  bending  an 
eager  gaze  forward  upon  the  road,  of  which  she  could  only 
catch  glimpses  as  the  breeze  waved  aside  the  leafy  screen 
before  her.  Near  her,  leaning  against  one  of  the  carved 
wooden  pillars  which  stood  at  each  side  of  the  wide  hall 
door,  was  a  young  man  whose  countenance  was  singularly 
prepossessing,  from  its  blending  of  almost  childlike  open- 
ness with  manly  spirit  and  decision.  There  was  a  slight 
tinge  of  red  in  the  wavy  brown  hair  which  was  brushed 
carelessly  back  from  his  forehead,  his  features  were  reg- 
ular and  harmonious,  and  the  mouth,  with  its  short,  curved 
upper  lip,  seemed  formed  for  laughter.  There  was  a  smile 
upon  it  even  now,  though  a  touch  of  sadness  might  be  dis- 
cerned in  the  eyes,  which  were  fixed  as  intently  upon  bis 
companion  as  hers  were  upcn  the  road.  Tender  admiration 


/"S«">>~ 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


was  visible  through  that  sadness, — an  admiration  at  which 
none  could  wonder  who  looked  upon  its  lovely  object. 

Just  of  that  height  which  the  sculptor  has  chosen  for  the 
statue  of  Beauty's  Queen,  Evelyn  Beresford's  slender  form 
would  have  excited  a  painful  apprehension  cf  delicate 
health,  had  not  the  apprehension  been  relieved  by  its 
rounded  symmetry,  the  buoyant  life  visible  in  every  elastic 
movement,  and  the  extreme  youthfulness  of  her  face,  which 
indicated  that  she  was  still  in  the  first  dawn  of  womanhood. 
That  face  was  delicately  fair ;  yet  the  ruby  lips  and  the 
peach-like  bloom  of  the  cheeks  relieved  it  from  the  charge 
of  paleness.  Her  features  were  small,  but  of  chiselled 
beauty  and  regularity.  Her  hair,  which  fell  in  luxuriant 
curls  over  her  neck  and  shoulders,  glittered  in  the  sunshine 
like  golden  threads.  Her  eyes,  of  the  darkest  hazel,  were 
full  of  the  soul's  light,  and  gave  to  her  countenance  a  depth 
of  expression,  which  it  might  else  have  been  supposed  to 
want.  Nothing  could  be  more  unstudied,  yet  nothing  more 
graceful  than  the  attitude  in  which  she  now  appeared,  with 
one  beautifully-moulded  hand  shading  her  eyes  from  the 
glare  of  light.  She  had  stood  thus  for  more  than  a  minute, 
when  suddenly  turning  to  her  companion,  she  exclaimed 
joyously,  "They  are  coming! — I  see  them!" 

He  smiled ;  but  the  smile  was  as  grave  as  the  tone  in 
which  he  said,  "  You  seem  strangely  rejoiced,  Evelyn,  to 
leave  your  home  and  your  friends." 

Those  tender  eyes  were  raised  for  a  moment  inquiringly 
to  his  face ;  then  extending  her  hand  to  him  with  the  frank- 
ness of  childhood,  she  said,  as  he  clasped  it,  "  You  are  an 
ungrateful  man,  Mr.  Everard  Irving,  and  do  not  deserve  to 
be  reminded  that  I  am  going  to  the  place  in  which  you 
live." 

His  face,  for  a  moment,  was  as  joyous  as  her  own,  but  it 
clouded  over  as  he  replied,  "  Ah,  Evelyn,  but  you  are  going 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


to  a  stranger's  house,  where  I  must  visit  you  with  ceremo- 
ny. Here,  I  may  at  least  enjoy  the  intimacy  of  a  friend ; 
at  Mrs.  Mabury's  I  must  be  content  with  the  courtesy  of 
an  acquaintance,  unless  your  father  would  withdraw  his  in- 
terdict to  our  engagement,  and  allow  me  to  appear  in  my 
true  character,  as  your  lover — your  affianced  lover." 

Evelyn's  eyes  sank  beneath  his,  and  she  turned  away  her 
blushing  face  as  she  replied,  in  a  low  and  somewhat  em- 
barrassed tone,  "  If  I  had  known  that  my  going  would  give 
you  pain,  I  would  have  declined  Mrs.  Mabury's  invitation ; 
but  I  thought  you  would  like  that  I  should  be  in  the  city, 
where  we  could  meet  every  day." 

"  Was  that  your  only  reason  for  desiring  to  go,  Evelyn  ?" 

The  eyes  which  had  just  been  withdrawn  were  again 
turned  upon  him,  and  though  the  color  deepened  on  Evelyn's 
cheek,  she  replied  frankly,  "  No,  that  was  not  all.  I  do 
admire  Mrs.  Mabury  very  much,  and  they  say  she  has  al- 
ways such  a  brilliant  society  around  her,  that — that — " 

"  That  you  wished  to  enjoy  it ; — all  very  natural.  But  I 
do  not  admire  Mrs.  Mabury,  Evelyn :  she  is  too  artificial 
for  my  taste.  Do  not  become  like  her,  I  pray  you." 

"  Like  her !  I  like  Mrs.  Mabury  !" — and  a  laugh  full  of 
mirth  and  music  rang  forth,  which  called  an  elderly  gentle- 
man to  the  piazza,  just  as  two  riders  entered  at  full  canter 
the  gate  leading  into  the  courtyard.  One  of  these  riders 
was  a  lady,  and  the  very  Mrs.  Mabury  who  had  just  been 
named ;  and  certainly  few  persons  could  have  looked  less 
like  the  girlish  and  sylph-like  Evelyn  Beresford  than  the 
elegant  woman,  the  full  yet  admirable  proportions  of  whose 
form  were  displayed  to  the  greatest  advantage  by  her 
closely-fitting  riding-habit. 

As  she  approached  the  house,  she  reined  in  her  horse 
very  suddenly,  and  seemed  about  to  spring  from  the  saddle 
without  assistance.  If  this  was  a  feint,  it  served  to  show 


8  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

that  her  companion  was  at  least  as  fearless  a  rider  as  herself, 
for,  without  checking  in  the  slightest  degree  the  speed  oi 
his  horse,  he  leaped  to  the  ground,  and  was  at  her  side 
before  she  could  extiicate  her  foot  from  the  stirrup. 

If  Mrs.  Mabury's  general  aspect  was  little  like  Evelyn  at 
a  distance,  a  nearer  and  more  minute  examination  of  her 
person  and  features  did  not  increase  the  resemblance.  With 
hair  and  eyes  of  jet,  her  complexion  was  of  that  clear  olive, 
which  marks  the  Spanish  donna,  yet  so  richly  colored,  that, 
to  use  the  poet's  simple  and  beautiful  simile, — 

"  Her  cheek  was  like  the  Catherine  pear, 
The  side  that's  next  the  sun." 

The  character  of  her  brow,  of  her  large  and  brilliant  black 
eyes,  and  more  than  slightly  aquiline  nose,  was  proud,  and 
might  have  been  thought  unfeminine,  had  they  not  been 
softened  by  the  rich  swell  of  the  lips,  the  beautifully- 
moulded  chin,  and  the  bewitching  dimples,  which,  when  she 
smiled  or  spoke,  played  around  her  mouth.  Her  youth  had 
already  passed,  for  she  had  been  eight  years  a  wife  and  five 
a  widow ;  but  time  had  only  matured  her  charms,  pass- 
ing over  her  so  gently,  that  he  had  left  no  line  upon  her 
brow,  nor  marked  one  of  her  raven  tresses  with  his  frosty 
touch. 

In  the  appearance  of  her  companion  there  seemed,  to  the 
casual  observer,  nothing  worthy  of  special  notice ;  yet  there 
were  few  who  looked  on  Euston  Hastings  without  turning  to 
look  again ;  and  the  vain  effort  of  the  mind  to  decide  in 
what  his  attraction  lay,  but  caused  him  to  occupy  the  at- 
tention more  surely.  His  person  was  under  the  middle 
size,  and  his  features  plain,  yet  command  seemed  stamped 
upon  his  aspect.  The  physiognomist  declared  that  the  se- 
cret of  his  power  lay  in  his  dark  and  deep-set  eye,  and  in 
the  firmly- compressed  lips,  which  told  of  an  indomitable 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  9 

will.  The  phrenologist  placed  it  in  the  contour  of  his  head, 
with  its  broad  and  high  forehead.  The  artist  saw  it  in  the 
noble  position  of  that  head,  and  in  the  consummate  ease 
and  grace  of  every  movement. 

Before  Mrs.  Mabury  had  dismounted,  Everard  Irving  had 
withdrawn  from  the  piazza,  leaving  Mr.  Beresford  and  his 
daughter  to  receive  their  guests.  Their  salutations  were 
returned  with  easy,  friendly  gayety  by  Mrs.  Mabury — with 
grave  and  distant  courtesy  by  Mr.  Hastings. 

"  Well,  you  have  not  repented  your  promise  to  lend  me 
your  pet  for  a  while,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury,  as  she  shook  hands 
with  Mr.  Beresford. 

"  No,  no ;  I  fear  the  repentance  will  be  on  your  side 
when  you  find  out  what  a  plague  she  is." 

The  fond  expression  with  which  Mr.  Beresford's  eyes 
rested  on  the  smiling  face  of  his  child,  and  the  caressing 
movement  with  which  he  passed  his  hand  over  her  head, 
contradicted  his  words. 

"  I  have  made  engagements  of  all  sorts  for  her,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Mabury. 

"  Of  all  sorts  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Beresford,  playfully. 

"  Except  matrimonial — that  I  leave  for  herself;  but  such 
numerous  and  pressing  engagements,  that  we  have  not  a 
moment  to  spare  :  so  get  ready,  love — but  stay,  will  you 
ride  with  us,  or  shall  I  return  with  you  in  your  carriage  ?" 

"As  you  please,"  said  Evelyn. 

"  Nay,  nay ;  it  shall  be  as  you  please  in  all  things  while 
you  are  with  me." 

"  You  will  spoil  her,  I  fear,  Mrs.  Mabury." 

"  Spoil  myself  rather,  Mr.  Beresford  ;  for  do  you  not  see 
it  will  save  me  all  the  trouble  of  thinking.  I  shall  only 
have  to  ask  what  Evelyn  wishes,  and  decide  accordingly. 
Now,  then,  Evelyn,  do  we  ride  or  drive  ?" 

"  If  I  thought  you  were  not  fatigued  with  the  ride  you 


10  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

have  already  taken,"  Evelyn  began,  but  Mrs.  Mabury  inter- 
rupted her,  exclaiming,  "  Not  in  the  least — not  in  the  least ! 
riding  is  the  only  thing  of  which  I  never  tire ;  so  don  your 
habit." 

"  And  while  she  is  doing  so,"  said  Mr.  Beresford,  "  you 
and  Mr.  Hastings  will  walk  in  and  partake  of  some  refresh- 
ments. We  have  still  some  peaches  and  grapes  here,  which, 
though  they  'may  not  rival  those  of  Italy,  are  very  fair  for 
America,  as  an  English  gentleman  informed  me  a  few  days 
since." 

We  will  leave  Evelyn  to  prepare  for  her  ride,  and  Mr. 
Beresford  to  entertain  his  guests  with  somewhat  of  the  cere- 
monious politeness  of  "  the  olden  time,"  while  we  return  to 
the  young  man  who  has  been  introduced  to  us  as  Mr. 
Everard  Irving,  and  who,  it  may  be  remembered,  withdrew 
from  the  piazza  at  the  approach  of  Mrs.  Mabury  and  Mr. 
Hastings.  Passing  on  to  the  opposite  extremity  of  the  hall, 
he  paused  before  a  door  on  his  left  hand,  and  knocked  gently 
at  it. 

"  Come  in,"  cried  a  low  and  seemingly  feeble  voice,  and 
he  entered. 

Reclining  on  a  couch  near  a  window,  enveloped  in  a  large 
shawl,  was  a  young  girl  who  had  probably  seen  some 
eighteen  or  nineteen  summers.  If  we  could  convey  to  the 
reader  any  idea  of  the  singular  loveliness  of  this  being,  we 
should  be  assured  of  his  pardon  for  adding  another  to  the 
many  sketches  which  have  already  given  to  this  chapter 
something  of  the  character  of  a  portrait  gallery.  Yet  lovely 
as  she  was,  there  was  that  in  her  appearance  which  painfully 
affected  the  heart  of  the  gazer,  reminding  him  that  earth's 
loveliest  things  are  often  the  most  fleeting.  A  slight  tinge 
of  pink  had  risen  to  her  cheek  at  the  entrance  of  Everard 
Irving,  but  it  faded  even  while  she  was  receiving  his  greeting, 
leaving  her  whole  face  of  the  pure  Parian  tint.  Her  hair, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  11 

which  was  black  as  night,  was  drawn  entirely  off  the  beau- 
tiful forehead  and  temples,  and  being  gathered  into  massy 
folds  at  tht  back  of  the  head,  was  confined  there  with  a 
small  comb.  The  features  were  severely  classical ;  but  there 
was  a  languor  in  the  dreamy  gray  eye,  and  about  the  lovely 
mouth,  which  told  of  suffering  not  less  surely  than  did  the 
perfectly  colorless  complexion. 

Everard  advanced  to  her  with  a  countenance  full  of  affec- 
tionate interest,  and  taking  her  hand,  said  tenderly,  "  I  hope 
you  arc  better,  dear  Mary,  for  I  cannot  bear  to  leave  you 
when  you  are  suffering." 

"  You  go  this  morning,  then  ?"  she  inquired,  as  her  hand, 
which  had  neither  been  given  nor  withdrawn,  fell  from  his 
clasp. 

"Yes,  I  intended  doing  so,  unless,"  he  added  slowly, 
"you  wish  me  to  remain." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered  quickly,  "  I  have  no  such  wish : 
on  the  contrary,  I  would  rather  you  would  not  come  again 
till  Evelyn  returns ;  it  fatigues  me  to  entertain  visiters." 

"  Entertain  visiters !  Oh,  Mary,  do  not  speak  to  me  so 
coldly.  I  am  sad  enough  already,  without  any  new  trial ; 
and  I  shall  indeed  think  it  right  to  distrust  all  love,  if  that 
of  my  earliest  friend — my  sister — can  change  so  suddenly 
and  so  causelessly." 

The  whole  manner  of  the  young  girl  underwent  an  in- 
stant and  complete  alteration.  Resting  on  his  the  hand 
which  she  had  before  only  permitted  him  to  take,  she  said,  ' 
in  tones  of  thrilling  tenderness,  and  with  eyes  full  of  tears, 
"Forgive  me,  dear  Everard,  suffering  makes  me  peevish; 
but  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  sad :  tell  me  what  has 
made  you  so."  She  paused,  but  observing  some  embarrass- 
ment in  his  countenance,  immediately  resumed,  with  a  vain 
effort  at  playfulness.  "  Has  Evelyn  frowned  upon  you  this 


12  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Everard  pressed  her  hand  affectionately,  and  continued 
to  hold  it  between  both  his  as  he  said,  with  an  embarrassed 
laugh,  "No;  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  acknowledge,  even 
to  you,  that  it  is  Evelyn's  smiles  which  disturb  me  this 
morning." 

"  Does  she  smile  upon  another,  then  ?" 

"  No ;  but  to  speak  plainly,  she  is  so  happy,  so  joyous  at 
this.visit  to  the  city,  that — I  fear  I  know  not  what." 

"  I  find  that  love  as  well  as  guilt  makes  cowards  of  us. 
Why,  Everard,  she  is  doubtless  pleased  for  your  sake ;  she 
is  going  to  the  place  in  which  you  live." 

"  No,  no,  Mary ;  she  has  been  frank  enough  to  acknow- 
ledge that  this  is  not  all,  and  I  am  clear-sighted  enough  to 
perceive  that  it  is  but  a  small  part  of  her  promised  pleas- 
ure. She  will  soon  be  surrounded  with  admirers,  and  as 
her  father  persists  in  forbidding  any  engagement  between 
us  for  a  year,  (as  if  a  year  could  make  Evelyn  so  much 
wiser  or  better  able  to  judge  for  herself,)  my  visits  and  at- 
tentions to  her  will  be  on  the  same  footing  with  those  of 
others,  and  I  may  be  compelled  to  see  her  whom  I  have 

thought  my  own,  wooed  and this  is  too  tyrannous  in  Mr. 

Beresford — I  have  been  too  submissive  to  his  will — I  will 
yet  win  from  Evelyn  a  promise  to  become  mine  when  this 
year  of  probation  is  at  an  end." 

As  Everard  uttered  these  last  words,  he  relinquished  the 
hand  of  his  companion,  and  starting  from  his  seat,  walked 
hurriedly  across  the  room,  as  if  to  give  vent  to  his  impa- 
tience by  motion.  He  returned,  however,  as  rapidly,  and 
then  Mary  said,  "  I  doubt  not,  Everard,  that  Evelyn  would 
make  the  promise  you  require ;  but  you  will  not  ask  it,  I 
am  sure." 

"  And  why  not  ?" 

"  First,  because  you  promised  Mr.  Beresford  that  you 
would  not." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  13 

"  It  was  a  promise  he  should  never  have  exacted.  What 
great  change  can  take  place  in  Evelyn  in  one  year?" 

"  If  in  that  year  Evelyn  remain  unchanged,  Everard,  any 
promise  would  be  needless ;  if  she  should  change,  you  would 
not  desire  to  hold  by  a  promise,  the  heart  no  longer  yours." 

This  was  a  statement  too  true  to  be  disputed ;  but  there 
are  some  moods  of  the  mind  in  which  truth  is  the  most  irri- 
tatinar  of  all  things.  Such*was  now  the  mood  of  Everard 
Irving,  and  with  an  impatience  which  belonged  to  his  im- 
petuous nature,  but  which  he  had  rarely  manifested  to  the 
gentle  being  at  his  side,  he  replied,  "  All  very  reasonable, 
and  very  proper  too,  I  doubt  not.  I  am  sorry  that  I  am 
not  just  now  sufficiently  cool  and  calm  to  appreciate  it. 
You,  who  never  knew  the  fears  and  doubts  of  love,  can 
scarcely  be  expected  to  sympathize  with  my  folly." 

An  expression  of  the  keenest  anguish  passed  over  the 
face  of  the  girl,  and  pressing  her  hand  to  her  side  as  if  she 
had  felt  the  pang  there,  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  laid  her 
head  back  upon  the  pillows  of  her  couch.  Everard  had  not 
looked  at  her  while  speaking,  but  her  change  of  position 
attracted  his  attention ;  and  as  he  saw  the  suffering  depict- 
ed in  her  face,  he  leaned  tenderly  over  her,  and  said,  "  For- 
give me,  Mary,  for  disturbing  you  with  my  waywardness. 
I  am  like  a  fretful  child  this  morning ;  but  we  will  speak  of 
this  no  more." 

"  Nay,  Everard,  not  so ;  to  whom  should  you  speak,  if  not 
to  me  ?  If  I  have  not  known  love,"  she  added,  with  a  bitter 
smile,  "  I  have  at  least  learned  to  sympathize  with  sorrow." 

He  replied  only  by  a  pressure  of  her  hand,  and  they  were 
both  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  She  was  the  first  to  speal 
again. 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing,"  she  asked,  "  of  this  Mrs.  Ma 
bury,  between  whom  and  Evelyn  such  a  sudden  intimac) 
seems  to  have  arisen  ?" 


14  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  But  little,  and  that  little  does  not  inspire  me  with  con- 
fidence. She  married,  when  very  young,  a  man  much  older 
than  herself,  whose  wealth  was  thought  by  others  to  be  his 
chief  attraction.  Going  abroad  immediately  on  her  wido.v- 
hood,  she  spent  five  years  in  France  and  Italy,  and  only  re- 
turned a  month  ago  to  America,  in  consequence  of  a  lawsuit 
which  involved  a  large  part  of  the  fortune  left  her  by  Mr. 
Mabury.  You  smile,  and  I  acknowledge  that  these  are  not 
very  serious  causes  of  dissatisfaction  with  her  as  a  chaperone 
for  Evelyn ;  but  against  the  companion  she  has  brought 
back  with  her,  and  in  whose  society  she  passed,  I  am  told, 
much  of  her  time  abroad,  I  have  graver  and  more  decided 
objections." 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak  ?" 

"  Of  this  Euston  Hastings.  He,  they  say,  went  abroad 
at  twenty,  in  consequence  of  some  disappointment  of  the 
heart.  If  it  were  so,  it  is  well  to  preserve  the  remem- 
brance as  a  proof  that  he  once  had  a  heart,  for  I  greatly 
doubt  if  there  is  such  a  thing  in  his  organism  now.  He  is 
the  most  cold,  hard,  derisive  being  I  have  ever  met." 

"  Evelyn's  association  with  him  will  certainly  not  inflict 
on  you  the  pangs  of  jealousy ;  for  you  cannot  anticipate 
danger  to  her  affections  from  the  attractions  of  such  a 
man." 

"  I  have  described  Euston  Hastings  to  you  as  he  has  im- 
pressed me ;  but  there  are  those  who  will  tell  you  that  there 
is  about  him  a  singular  and  irresistible  charm.  I  have  never 
.seen  him  smile  except  to  sneer,  and  have  scarcely  heard  him 
speak  except  to  ridicule ;  but  I  have  heard  others  say  that 
his  smile  was  beautiful,  and  tuat  when  he  was  in  the  vein 
for  it,  his  conversation  was  inexpressibly  fascinating.  He 
has  spent  fifteen  years  abroad.  I  wish  he  had  stayed  there 
one  year  longer." 

"  Is  he  not  engaged  to  Mrs.  Mabury,  think  you  ?" 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  15 

"  It  is  generally  so  believed,  because  they  returned  to- 
gether, and  he  is  always  seen  at  her  side ;  but  if  so,  why 
are  they  not  married  ?  They  are  both  free,  both  indepen- 
dent in  fortune.  But  I  am  unjust  to  myself  in  suffering  you 
to  believe  that  I  object  to  Evelyn's  association  with  Eustoi 
Hastings  from  a  lover's  jealousy.  I  should  in  reality  dislike 
it  almost  as  much  were  he  the  husband  of  Mrs.  Mabury ; 
for,  if  I  have  not  been  misinformed,  he  is  a  scoffer  at  all 
things  pure  and  holy." 

"  Have  you  told  Mr.  Beresford  this  ?" 

"  I  have ;  but  Mr.  Beresford  at  fifty  knows  no  more  of 
the  world  than  a  child.  He  has  lived  in  his  books  alone. 
He  replied  to  my  information,  that  he  seldom  believed  hear- 
say reports  against  any  one,  and  that  if  this  were  true,  he 
•was  assured  that  a  libertine  and  an  infidel  could  acquire  no 
influence  over  his  pure-hearted  and  religious  Evelyn.  When 
I  would  have  urged  him  farther,  he  silenced  me  by  his  rail- 
lery, declaring  that  I  must  be  jealous  as  a  Turk  if  I  was 
unwilling  to  see  Evelyn  associate  with  a  man  almost  twice 
her  age,  grave  and  silent  as  a  priest,  and  ugly  enough  to  be 
any  thing." 

"  Mr.  Beresford  is  right,"  said  Mary,  after  a  few  moments 
of  silence  ;  "  Evelyn  is  both  pure-hearted  and  religious — " 

"  She  is,  indeed,"  interrupted  Everard,  "  or  I  should  not 
love  her  as  I  do ;  but,  Mary,  Evelyn  is  wholly  a  creature 
of  the  affections.  Her  impulses  are  pure,  her  heart  is  full 
of  worship,  but  she  is  as  wax  in  the  hands  of  those  she 
loves:  their  approbation  and  affection  is  the  aim  of  her 
being ;  and  she  submits  to  their  wishes,  and  receives  their 
opinions  without  a  question." 

"  Then,  Everard,  since  she  loves  you,  you  should  feel  se- 
cure." 

"  But  may  not  new  attachments  displace  her  present 
ones  ?" 


16  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Mary  shook  her  head,  but  before  she  could  reply  in 
words,  there  was  a  slight  tap  at  the  door,  and  Evelyn  en- 
tered, habited  for  hCT  ride.  Advancing  to  the  couch,  she 
kissed  Mary's  cheek,  and  said,  "  Dear  Mary,  you  are  the 
only  one  I  grieve  to  leave  behind  me ;  but  it  is  only  for  a 
fortnight,  and  I  will  see  you  very  often,  every  day  if  I 
can." 

"  Thank  you,  Evelyn,  you  are  very  kind  ;  but  you  must 
not  let  me  interfere  with  pleasanter  engagements." 

"  Do  not  call  them  pleasanter :  there  are  none  pleasanter 
than  being  with  you." 

"  Gayer,  then,"  said  Mary,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  Your 
father  and  my  good  nurse,"  she  added,  "  will,  you  know, 
take  all  possible  care  of  me ;  so  be  as  happy  as  you  can, 
and  I  will  have  pleasure  in  thinking  of  yours." 

"  You  will  not  blame  me,  then,  as  some  other  people  have 
done,  for  being  happy;"  and  Evelyn  glanced  at  Everard 
Irving  with  the  pretty  pout  of  a  vexed  child,  though,  as 
she  met  his  eye,  a  blush  rose  to  her  cheek,  betokening  more 
womanly  emotion. 

"  Nay,  nay,  Evelyn,"  said  Everard,  as  he  caught  her 
hand,  and  spite  of  her  slight  resistance,  raised  it  to  his  lips ; 
"  that  is  only  half  the  truth  ;  and  every  lawyer  will  tell  you 
that  no  witness  is  so  unjust  as  he  who  speaks  but  half  the 
truth." 

"You  will  keep  Mrs.  Mabury  waiting,  Evelyn,"  said 
Mary,  hurriedly. 

"  Good-by,  then,  dear,  dear  Mary.  Take  care  of  your- 
self, if  you  would  have  me  enjoy  my  visit ;  for  if  I  hear  you 
are  ill,  I  shall  come  directly  back. 

Evelyn  twined  her  arms  around  Mary's  neck,  and  kissed 
her  again  and  again,  then  held  her  hand  to  Everard. 

"  We  do  not  part  here,  Evelyn.     I  shall  ride  with  you." 

"With  Mrs.   Mabury 's  permission;  so  come  and  make 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  17 

your  court  to  her,"  said  Evelyn,   as  she  tripped  lightly 
away. 

"Already,  you  see — Mrs.  Mabury's  permission  !"  repeat- 
ed Everard  bitterly.  Then  taking  a  hasty  leave  of  the  in- 
valid, he  followed  Evelyn  from  the  room.  As  the  door 
closed  upon  him,  Mary  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes, 
and  lay  for  several  minutes  quite  still.  Tears  began  to  steal 
from  beneath  those  almost  transparent  fingers ;  but  sud- 
denly her  sad  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  gay  laughtei 
and  the  clattering  of  horses'  hoofs.  Springing  from  hei 
pillow,  she  threw  up  the  sash  beside  her,  and  looked  out. 
Her  room  was  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  yet  from  this  win- 
dow the  road  was  visible  for  a  few  yards,  as  it  made  a  sud- 
den detour  beyond  the  gate,  and  there  she  saw  the  gay 
party  of  riders  as  they  swept  rapidly  by  on  their  way  to  the 
city.  The  breeze  again  wafted  back  to  her  the  sounds  of 
careless  glee  ;  and  as  one  well-known  voice  rang  on  her  ear, 
she  hastily  drew  down  the  sash,  and  exclaimed  wildly, 
"  Father ! — mother !  would  that  I  too  were  laid  hi  peace 
beside  you !" 

Alas !  for  the  young  heart  which  feels  itself  alone  on 
earth,  yet  has  not  learned  to  rise  above  the  earth !  which 
looks  to  impassive  death  and  the  dark  grave  for  the  peace 
that  can  come  only  from  life — ever-active,  beneficent  life — • 
and  the  light-giving  heavsns! 
2* 


18  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Oh  how  hitter  a  thing  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through  another's 
eves!" 

As  You  LIKE  IT. 

MR.  BERESFORD  had  married  after  thirty  a  young  and 
beautiful  girl,  whom  he  loved  truly  and  tenderly.  Truly 
and  tenderly  was  he  loved  in  return  ;  yet  when,  shortly  after 
the  birth  of  Evelyn,  Mr.  Beresford  bent  over  the  dying  bed 
of  his  wife,  he  felt,  with  a  bitterness  which  only  such  cir- 
cumstances can  impart,  that  to  her  the  brief  period  of  their 
married  life  had  not  been  all  brightness.  His  nature  was 
still  and  serene,  his  emotions  deep  but  not  vehement.  She 
was  ardent  and  impassioned,  loving  with  her  whole  being, 
and  requiring  to  be  so  loved  in  return.  She  never  doubted 
her  husband's  truth,  never  feared  that  any  other  could  come 
into  competition  with  her  in  his  heart,  yet  she  had  an  ob- 
ject of  painful  jealousy.  Mr.  Beresford  was  a  student,  and 
she  was  jealous  of  the  books  which  absorbed  so  much  of 
his  time,  and  which,  till  he  saw  her,  had  satisfied  all  his  de- 
sires for  companionship.  She  felt  that  there  were  thoughts 
whick  he  never  expressed  to  her — emotions  with  which  he 
claimed  not  her  sympathy,  and  these  the  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions which  he  considered  the  highest  and  noblest  portion 
of  his  being.  Had  she  lived  longer,  it  is  possible  that  she 
might  have  gained  courage  to  express  all  her  feelings  on 
this  subject,  and  that  Mr.  Beresford  would  have  learned 
from  actual  life  what  his  books  had  never  taught  him — that 
woman  was  not  intended  solely  as  an  embellishment  to  the 
life  of  man ;  that,  however  they  may  have  been  neglected 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  19 

or  even  repressed  by  her  education,  she  has  aspirations  as 
high,  desires  as  vast  as  he,  and  powers  fitting  her  at  least 
to  follow  his  lead,  and  sympathize  with  his  noblest  efforts. 
To  have  guided  this  young,  ardent,  loving  spirit  through  the 
•wide  field  of  thought,  whose  paths  were  new  to  her  and 
familiar  to  him ;  to  have  guarded  her  from  the  delusions  of 
error ;  to  have  unveiled  to  her  earnest  gaze  the  truths  that 
had  made  life  bright  and  clear  to  him,  would  have  given  to 
Mr.  Beresford  a  happiness  of  which  he  had  not  dreamed. 
Marriage  had  been  regarded  by  him  as  a  union  of  hearts 
indeed,  but  not  of  the  whole  being.  It  was  rather,  in  re- 
spect to  mind,  a  compromise,  in  which  he  agreed  to  relin- 
quish somewhat  of  his  intellectual  enjoyment  in  exchange 
for  dearer  delights.  When  on  seeking  her  after  hours  of 
lonely  study,  he  found  his  wife — gentle  and  affectionate  in- 
deed, for  she  was  too  amiable  and  loved  too  truly  to  be 
otherwise — but  sad,  and  oftentimes  bearing  on  her  cheeks 
the  traces  of  tears,  he  would  urge  her  going  more  into  so- 
ciety, would  sacrifice  his  own  tastes  to  go  with  her,  and  to 
gather  around  her  in  her  own  abode  the  gayeties  to  which 
she  had  been  accustomed ;  he  would  do  any  thing,  every 
thing,  except  endeavor  to  bring  her  mind  into  companion- 
ship with  his,  for  this  he  supposed  little  likely  to  please  a 
gay,  graceful,  accomplished  woman. 

Mr.  Beresford  never  discovered  his  mistake ;  he  only  felt, 
as  we  have  already  said,  even  while  his  Evelyn  was  breath- 
ing out  upon  his  bosom  her  gratitude  for  his  constant  ten- 
derness, that  he  had  failed  to  make  this,  the  most  loving 
and  gentle  and  best-beloved  of  God's  creatures,  happy.  This 
conviction  was  never  removed  from  his  mind ;  and  when,  in 
after  years,  friends  spoke  to  him  of  the  expediency  of  giv- 
ing to  the  little  Evelyn  another  mother,  it  perhaps  influenced 
his  rejection  of  their  counsel  scarcely  less  than  his  tender 
memory  of  the  dead. 


20  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Evelyn  inherited  her  mother's  loving  nature.  She  would 
sit  for  hours  at  her  father's  feet,  occupied  with  her  childish 
sports,  and  satisfied  with  the  smile  with  which  he  would 
sometimes  turn  from  the  most  interesting  page  to  regard 
her,  or  with  the  caressing  hand  that  played  among  her  soft 
ringlets  as  she  rested  her  head  against  his  knee.  It  was 
soon  perceived  by  her  attendants  that  the  rewards  and 
punishments  most  powerfully  influencing  her  were  those  ad- 
dressed to  her  affections,  and  "  Everybody  will  love  you," 
or  "  Nobody  will  care  for  you,"  early  became  the  highest 
sanctions  of  her  code  of  morals.  In  her  education,  Mr. 
Beresford  had  suffered  her  wishes  to  guide  him  in  all  save 
absolute  essentials. 

The  love  of  music  was  like  all  other  love  with  her,  a 
passion,  and  her  voice  was  sweet  and  clear  and  flexible,  like 
the  notes  of  a  bird.  In  this  art  she  had  had  the  highest  cul- 
tivation that  could  be  obtained  for  her.  For  the  rest,  she 
was  neither  ignorant  nor  learned.  Her  reflective  powers 
had  been  little  exercised,  but  her  perceptions  were  so  quick 
and  clear,  that  she  often  reached  at  once,  and  as  if  by  in- 
tuition, the  point  at  which  others  arrived  only  by  slow  and 
laborious  induction.  At  seventeen  she  united  the  frank 
confidingness,  and  sometimes  perhaps  a  little  of  the  wilful- 
ness,  of  a  child  to  the  sensitive  delicacy  of  a  woman.  Her 
heart  was,  as  Everard  Irving  had  said,  full  of  worship,  and 
her  religious  faith  as  simple  and  unquestioning  as  when 
she  had  lisped  her  morning  and  evening  prayer,  with  an 
awed  yet  loving  spirit,  at  her  father's  knee.  It  would  be 
scarcely  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  her  worship  extended 
to  her  father  himself,  who  was  in  her  eyes  the  most  exalted 
as  well  as  the  dearest  of  earthly  beings,  whose  opinions 
were  her  criteria  of  right,  whose  will  was  her  rule  of  action. 
One  want  alone  had  Evelyn  felt  in  her  past  life — the  want 
of  a  companion  whose  age  and  tastes  assimilated  with  hers. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  21 

who  would  tend,  with  her,  her  birds  and  flowers,  listen  to 
her  fancies  and  communicate  her  own :  and  Mary  Raymond 
had  been  welcomed  by  her  with  a  thousand  joyful  anticipa- 
tions that  she  would  supply  this  want.  But  Mary  came 
with  a  sorrowing  heart,  and  an  enfeebled  frame.  The  birds 
ind  flowers,  the  bright  sunshine  and  brighter  fancies  in 
which  Evelyn  delighted,  would  have  seemed  a  mockery  to 
the  heart  yet  lingering  beside  the  grave  of  her  just-buried 
father,  and  among  the  silent  and  deserted  scenes  of  her  early 
home. 

Mr.  Raymond,  the  father  of  Mary,  had  been  one  of  Mr. 
Beresford's  earliest  and  most  intimate  friends.  When  Mary 
was  about  six  years  old  he  had  removed  to  Baltimore,  with 
the  hope  that  a  residence  in  a  warmer  climate  might  restore 
the  enfeebled  health  of  his  wife.  He  was  not  disappointed 
in  this  hope.  Under  the  mild  influences  of  a  southern  sky, 
her  constitution  regained  its  former  vigor,  and  she  continued 
for  ten  years  longer  to  share  the  prosperity  and  honor  which 
Mr.  Raymond's  eminence  as  a  lawyer,  and  high-toned  char- 
acter as  a  man,  won  for  him  in  his  new  home.  Mary  was 
little  more  than  sixteen,  when  a  fever  suddenly  terminated 
her  mother's  life.  The  tie  between  them  had  been  un- 
usually tender  and  strong,  for  Mrs.  Raymond,  an  intellectual 
and  accomplished  woman,  had  been  herself  the  instructress 
of  her  daughter :  and  little  do  those  know,  who  yield  this 
sacred  office  to  another,  how  large  a  portion  of  reverence 
and  love  they  relinquish. 

Even  at  sixteen,  Mary  Raymond  proved  herself  no  com- 
mon character  by  the  energy  with  which  she  struggled  with 
her  own  heavy  sorrow  at  her  mother's  death ;  and  the  tact 
with  which  she  unobtrusively,  yet  perseveringly  and  suc- 
cossfully,  exerted  herself  to  win  her  father  back  to  life  and 
to  her  from  the  contemplation  of  his  own  bereavement. 
But  when,  two  years  later,  the  death  of  that  cherished  father 


22  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

left  her  home  desolate,  and  with  only  Everard  Irving  of  all 
whom  she  had  known  and  loved  in  earlier  life,  she  came  to 
the  dwelling  of  strangers,  her  strength  seemed  for  a  time  to 
have  departed  from  her,  and  her  health  gave  way. 

Everard  Irving,  orphaned  in  his  infancy,  had  been  a  ward 
of  Mr.  Raymond,  and  had  spent  most  of  his  life  under  the 
same  roof  with  Mary.  When  Everard  left  home  for  college 
they  parted  as  brothers  and  sisters  part.  From  this  time 
their  intercourse  had  been  more  interrupted.  Everard  had 
too  much  energy  of  character,  too  much  of  that  thirst  for 
action  which  almost  always  accompanies  a  high  order  ol 
mind,  to  be  contented  with  the  life  of  an  idle  gentleman, 
and  immediately  on  the  completion  of  his  collegiate  course, 
he  entered  on  the  study  of  the  law.  He  had  wished  to  do 
this  under  the  supervision  of  his  guardian,  but  there  were 
reasons  which  induced  Mr.  Raymond  to  decide  otherwise. 
Everard  inherited  property  which  lay  principally  in  New 
York,  and  as  this  property  was  every  year  increasing  in 
value,  it  seemed  desirable  that  he  should  select  that  place 
for  his  future  residence  and  the  scene  of  his  professional 
career.  He  must  therefore  seek  admission  to  the  courts  of 
that  State  as  a  legal  practitioner,  and  to  obtain  it  his  legal 
education  must  be  conducted  there.  But  his  removal  did 
not  sever  the  ties  which  connected  young  Irving  with  the 
friends  of  his  childhood.  Every  long  intermission  from 
study  was  spent  with  them ;  Mr.  Raymond  acquainted  him- 
self from  time  to  time  with  his  progress  as  a  law  student, 
attended  his  legal  examination,  and  welcomed  him  to  the 
bench  of  barristers  with  somewhat  of  a  father's  pride  in  his 
success.  With  Mary  he  kept  up  the  epistolary  correspond- 
ence which  had  been  commenced  between  them  when  he 
was  at  college.  This  correspondence  retained  on  his  part 
all  its  original  frankness.  The  plans,  prospects,  and  desires 
of  the  man  were  communicated  with  no  less  freedom  than 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  23 

the  sports  and  graver  pursuits  of  the  boy  had  been.  How 
was  it  with  Mary  ? 

Everard's  first  visit  p-fter  his  removal  to  New  York  had 
been  made  when  he  was  just  twenty-one,  and  Mary  was  ap- 
proaching her  sixteenth  birthday.  As  usual,  she  was  the 
first  to  greet  him  with  warm,  unblushing  affection.  It  had 
ever  been  her  pleasure,  when  he  was  at  home,  as  he  called 
Mr.  Raymond's  house,  to  care,  as  a  loving  sister  should,  for 
his  wants, — to  put  his  books  in  order,  fill  his  inkstand,  dec- 
orate his  room  with  his  favorite  flowers,  and  minister  to  his 
enjoyment  by  a  thousand  delicate  attentions.  Going  one 
morning  to  perform  some  of  these  kindly  offices  in  the  room 
which  he  called  his  study,  while  she  knew  him  to  be  absent 
with  her  father,  she  approached  his  open  desk  to  put  aside 
the  papers  which  he  had  left  exposed.  An  unfinished  letter 
lay  there.  Mary  raised  the  lid  of  the  desk,  placed  the  let- 
ter within,  and  was  about  to  close  it  when  her  eye  rested 
on  her  own  name,  and  before  a  thought  could  rise  to  rebuke 
the  heedless  impulse,  she  had  read,  "  I  must  enter  a  writ 
of  error  in  the  court  of  scandal  against  your  raillery  on  the 
subject  of  my  love  for  Mary  Raymond.  I  do  love  her,  and 
well  I  may,  for  she  is  the  loveliest  and  gentlest  sister  man 
was  ever  blessed  with  ;  but  she  is  my  sister,  at  least  the 
remembrances  of  my  childhood  will  ever  make  me  regard 
her  as  such.  As  a  proof  of  this,  if  you  need  one,  I  will 
promise  to  introduce  you  to  her,  and  to  do  my  best  to  win 
for  you  the  highest  place  in  her  heart,  whenever  you  shall 
claim  my  good  offices ;  and  this,  be  it  known  to  you,  is  no 
slight  proof  of  my  regard,  for  she  is  in  truth  a  noble  girl, 
and  few,  in  my  opinion,  deserve  such  a  treasure." 

With  a  countenance  deeply  thoughtful,  Mary  stood  mo- 
tionless beside  the  unclosed  desk,  till  roused  by  the  opening 
of  the  street  door  and  the  sound  of  her  father's  voice.  Ev- 
erard  might  be  with  him,  and  rapid  as  thought,  impelled 


CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


by  feelings  which  she  did  not  herself  understand,  sht  stai  ted 
from  hei  trance,  placed  the  letter  again  exactly  as  she  had 
found  it,  and  stole  to  her  own  room  with  the  cautious  yet 
hurried  movement  of  guilt.  The  whole  of  this  day  Mary 
was  miserable — conscious  of  a  resentment  towards  Everard 
which  she  could  not  banish  even  while  she  felt  its  injustice. 
"Am  I  so  greedy  of  praise  that  it  is  not  enough  for  me  to 
be  called  lovely  and  gentle  and  noble,  a  treasure  which  few 
deserve  ?"  she  asked  herself,  and  the  next  moment  blamed 
Everard  for  introducing  her  name  in  a  letter  to  a  stranger, 
termed  it  a  levity  and  disrespect  with  which  for  her  father's 
sake  he  should  not  have  tre-ited  hei,  and  with  a  proud  ele- 
vation of  her  head  and  a  flashing  eye,  resolved  that  as  she 
was  no  longer  a  child  she  would  no  loi  ger  admit  from  him 
the  familiarity  of  their  childhood — he  should  at  least  respect 
her.  Again  her  mood  changed  to  a  vague,  undefined  sad- 
ness, under  the  influence  of  which  the  proud  head  drooped 
and  the  bright  eyes  were  dimmed  with  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mary  ?"  asked  Everard  when  they 
next  met,  as  he  watched  with  surprise  the  color  that  rapidly 
flushed  and  faded  in  her  cheek,  and  her  determinately  down- 
cast eyes. 

"  Nothing,"  she  murmured  with  an  averted  face. 

"  Nothing !  nay,  Mary,  something  is  the  matter,"  and 
catching  her  hand  as  she  would  have  passed  him,  he  drew 
her  towards  him,  adding  with  his  usual  affectionate  freedom, 
"  Come  here  and  tell  me  what  it  is." 

Mary  strove  to  extricate  her  hand  from  his  clasp,  to  re- 
sist the  impulse  with  which  he  would  have  drawn  her  to  his 
side,  and  when  she  found  her  efforts  vain,  burst  into  tears. 
Surprised  and  shocked,  Everard  dropped  her  hand,  and  in 
an  instant  she  darted  from  the  room,  leaving  him  in  the  ut- 
most astonishment  at  such  demonstrations  from  one  usually 
calm,  gentle,  and  confiding.  A  night  passed  before  they 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  25 


bad  another  interview,  and  then  Mary,  though  somewhat 
still  and  grave,  was  so  nearly  her  usual  self  that  Everard 
readily  believed  some  passing  indisposition  had  occasioned 
her  late  singular  mood.  Yet,  thenceforth,  he  was  at  times 
conscious  that  a  change  had  come  over  their  intercourse. 
Mary  was  as  kind  as  formerly,  but  there  was  about  her  a 
stillness,  a  slight  reserve,  a  something  which  made  him  com- 
pare her  in  his  imagination  to  a  veiled  picture,  and  this  re- 
serve extended  itself  to  her  part  of  their  correspondence. 
When,  however,  three  years  after,  he  learned  Mr. 'Ray- 
mond's sudden  death  from  the  family  physician,  and  hastened 
to  Mary  with  a  heart  almost  as  bereaved  as  her  own,  the 
veil  was  removed,  and  all  seemed  forgotten  by  her  save  that 
he  was  the  only  one  left  on  earth  who  had  shared  the  joys 
and  soothed  the  sorrows  of  her  childhood.  There  was  such 
a  touching  expression  of  tender  entreaty  in  her  eyes,  such 
gentle  submission  in  her  manner,  that  Everard  loved  her  as 
he  had  never  loved  before.  He  hovered  around  her  with 
anxious  tenderness,  and  till  he  had  seen  her  enter  her  new 
home  could  not  persuade  himself  to  resign  her  even  to  Mr- 
Beresford,  to  whose  guardianship  her  father's  will  had  con- 
signed her,  and  who  had  hastened  to  conduct  her  to  his 
house  on  learning  the  death  of  Mr.  Raymond. 

By  Evelyn  Mary  was  received  as  a  dear  sister.  Her 
bounding  step  grew  quiet,  her  song  was  hushed,  and  her 
mirthful  voice  became  more  gentle,  and  assumed  even  a 
touch  of  sadness  in  sympathy  with  the  mourner.  Mary 
became  ill,  and  Evelyn  tended  her  with  a  watchful,  untiring 
devotion  that  completely  won  the  heart  of  the  black  woman 
who  had  been  Mary's  nurse  in  childhood,  and  had  accom- 
panied her  from  Baltimore.  When  the  violence  of  the  dis- 
ease abated,  and  only  the  feebleness  it  had  left  confined 
Mary  to  her  couch,  Everard,  whose  daily  visits  since  her 
illness  had  been  only  visits  of  inquiry,  was  admitted  to  her 
3 


26  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

apartment,  and  shared  with  Evelyn  in  her  tender  assiduities. 
To  cheer  the  sufferer  by  gentle  converse,  or  read  to  her  from 
some  loved  page  was  Everard's  task,  while  Evelyn  would 
sing  to  her  in  the  softest,  sweetest  notes  that  ever  were 
breathed  from  gentle  and  loving  lips — would  bring  her  her 
favorite  flowers,  or  cull  f  >r  her  the  finest  fruits  and  claim  a 
smile  as  her  reward.  Affectionate  and  sensitive  as  Mary 
was,  she  had  none  of  that  morbid  sensibility,  that  selfish 
egotism,  which  would  have  made  her  close  her  heart  against 
all  the  kindly  influences  surrounding  her,  and  seclude  her- 
self within  the  sombre  chamber  of  her  own  melancholy 
imagery,  shutting  out  the  returning  beams  of  hope.  The 
graves  of  her  father  and  mother  were  sacred  shrines  to 
which,  through  life,  her  thoughts  would  make  frequent  and 
reverent  pilgrimage  ;  but  she  could  not  be  all  unblest  while 
her  hand  was  clasped  affectionately  in  that  of  the  loved 
companion  of  her  childhood,  and  her  wishes  anticipated 
with  such  endearing  sweetness  as  was  evinced  by  Evelyn. 
Her  cheek  began  to  wear  the  softest  tinge  of  color ;  and  her 
smile,  if  not  joyous  as  in  other  days,  was  more  tender  than 
sad.  Though  she  had  not  yet  attempted  to  walk  out,  she 
sat  in  the  piazza  during  the  summer  evenings,  inhaling,  with 
all  that  delight  which  the  convalescent  feels,  the  perfumes 
wafted  to  her  on  every  passing  breeze,  watching  the  sunset 
clouds,  and  listening  to  nature's  own  sweet  minstrelsy.  She 
was  of  late  often  alone  at  this  hour,  for  then  Everard  best 
loved  a  stroll  through  the  grove  or  on  the  river's  bank,  but 
not  a  solitary  stroll,  and  assured  by  Mary  that  she  could 
not  feel  lonely  while  surrounded  by  objects  which  made 
every  sense  a  minister  of  joy,  Evelyn  listened  to  his  plead- 
ings and  almost  always  accompanied  him.  It  was  thus  one 
balmy  evening  in  August  that  they  wandered  forth  together. 
Mary  saw  them  go  with  a  smile,  having  planned  what  she 
was  assured  would  be  an  agreeable  surprise  to  them. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  27 

«*  How  long  will  you  be  gone  this  evening  ?"  she  asked,  as 
they  were  descending  the  steps. 

Everard  looked  upward  to  the  sun  and  then  answered, 
"  Half  an  hour — we  will  just  receive  the  sun's  farewell 
glance  and  be  with  you  again." 

"  Can  you  sit  here  so  long  without  fatigue  ?"  asked  the 
careful  Evelyn. 

"  Oh  yes  !  but  do  not  stay  longer — just  half  an  hour." 

"  We  will  be  punctual  as  the  sun  himself,"  gayly  exclaim- 
ed Evelyn,  as  kissing  her  hand  she  bounded  down  the  steps. 
They  were  soon  lost  to  Mary's  view,  for  the  path  they  had 
entered  wound  through  a  thick  grove  of  beech  and  hickory, 
now  in  full  foliage,  to  the  river's  brink. 

Lovely  indeed  is  the  scene  that  meets  the  eye  of  him 
who  stands  on  that  bank  at  sunset  hour,  when  the  placid 
stream  at  his  feet  glows  Avith  the  glittering  hues  of  evening. 
Vessels  with  their  snowy  sails  are  moving  gracefully  hither 
and  thither,  but,  between  those  expanded  sails,  he  catches 
glimpses  of  the  opposite  shore.  As  he  follows  that  shore 
north,  it  grows  loftier  and  loftier,  till  it  terminates  in  the 
bold  palisades ;  and  as  he  turns  south,  his  eye  rests  on  Ho- 
boken's  softer  beauty  and  the  green  summit  of  Weehawken. 

"This  is  a  scene  of  which  I  am  never «weary,"  exclaimed 
Everard  as  they  reached  the  bank,  "  there  is  in  it  at  once 
so  much  repose  and  so  much  life — the  shadowy  grove 
around  us,  before  us  the  still  waters  and  the  verdant  shore, 
and  then  the  vessels  gliding  gracefully  by  and  the  steamer 
hurrying  on  its  way." 

"  That  last  I  would  gladly  dispense  with,  it  is  out  of  har- 
mony with  the  rest,"  said  Evelyn. 

"  It  makes  the  whole  more  life-like." 

"  An  unlovely  life,  I  should  think  it,  with  its  smoke  and 
din.  I  should  long  to  flee  away  from  such  a  life — to  be  a 
spirit  of  air  and  lie  on  such  a  couch  as  yonder  purple  cloud 


28  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

canopied  with  gold.  I  would  float  over  earth's  fair  scenes, 
and  hover  within  healing  of  its  sweet  sounds — of  sabbath 
bells  and  rushing  streams  and  sighing  winds,  of  chirping  in- 
sects and  warbling  birds ;  but  I  would  rise  far,  far  away 
when  a  steamer  was  coming,"  and  Evelyn  laughed  gayly  at 
her  own  wild  fancies  and  their  prosaic  termination. 

Never  had  she  seemed  so  lovely  in  the  eyes  of  Everard. 
She  had  worn  no  bonnet,  for  none  was  needed  at  so  late  an 
hour,  and  the  western  breeze  blew  back  her  glittering  ring- 
lets from  a  face  in  which  childlike  glee  mingled  with  an  ex- 
pression of  sweetness  and  purity  that  might  have  suited  the 
spiritual  being  she  described. 

"And  could  you  leave  us,  Evelyn?"  he  asked,  with  al- 
most unconscious  tenderness  in  his  tone. 

Whether  it  was  this  tone  or  the  glance  which  she  met  at 
that  moment  we  know  not,  but  it  was  with  a  heightened 
color  and  a  quick  embarrassed  manner  that  Evelyn  replied, 
"  Oh,  I  would  visit  you  often,  and  discourse  to  you  in  elo- 
quent music  of  my  aerial  home  and  its  pleasures — shall  I 
sing  you  one  of  my  spirit  songs  now  ?" 

"  Do/'  said  Everard,  scarcely  expecting  her  prompt  com- 
pliance ;  but  Evelyn,  whose  passing  embarrassment  was  al- 
ready forgotten,  without  a  moment's  hesitation  warbled  out 
in  her  sweet,  clear  tones,  which  made  each  word  as  distinct 
as  if  spoken, — 

'  My  home  is  of  the  ether  blue 

That  lines  the  glowing  vault  of  Heaven, 
Curtained  with  clouds  of  every  hue 

That  decks  the  gorgeous  West  at  even. 

ii. 
"  Above  the  earth  afar — afar, 

I  sail  in  this  my  spirit-home, 
And  I  have  won  one  glorious  star 
With  me  the  fields  of  air  to  roam. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  29 

"  Can  you  wonder  I  love  such  a  home  as  that  ?"  asked 
Evelyn  playfully,  turning  to  Everard  with  an  arch  smile  as 
she  concluded. 

He  gazed  on  her  with  passionate  admiration  as  he  mur- 
mured in  reply,  "  Ah !  Evelyn,  Undine  left  her  spirit-home 
for  a  human  love,  and  we  should  win  you  back  to  us ;  spite 
of  your  glorious  star." 

"  If  you  did,  I  should  pine  away,  and  my  song  would  be 
sad — listen  to  it :"  and  to  a  melancholy  air  she  chanted 
slowly, — 

i. 

"  I  long  from  this  darksome  world  to  fly 
To  my  home  in  yonder  azure  sky. 
As  I  watch  its  stars,  I  strive  and  strain 
To  fling  from  my  soul  the  earth-fiend's  chain, 
But  its  hated  links  must  clasp  me  round, 
Till  a  mightier  will  than  his  he  found 
To  set  my  struggling  spirit  free. 

ii. 

"  A  star  shed  down  its  silvery  light 
On  my  pearly  couch  in  Heaven  each  night; 
And  well,  by  its  beam  serene  and  clear, 
I  knew  the  spirit  I  loved  was  near. 
Oh !  for  one  gleam  of  his  cheering  ray, 
To  drive  earth's  dark'ning  shades  away, 
And  set  my  struggling  spirit  free." 

Before  he  could  speak,  the  gay  smile  was  again  on  her 
lip,  and  changing  the  air  to  one  of  triumphant  j>y,  she 
sang, — 

i. 

"  Star  of  my  life  !  again — again, 

Thy  radiant  beams  are  round  me  poured, 
My  struggling  soul  has  burst  its  chain, 

And  now,  like  a  joyous  bird,  I've  soared, 
Upborne  by  thy  mysterious  power, 
To  my  home  of  bliss — my  heavenly  bower. 
3* 


30  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


"  Its  flowers  are  fresh  with  the'  dews  01  aight, 

Its  clouds  are  bright  with  the  sun's  last  gleam, 
And  there  I  sport  in  thy  golden  light 

And  win  new  strength  from  thy  every  beam, 
Or  sail  on  the  winds  in  a  cloudy  car, 
With  thee  for  my  guide — my  glorious  star ! 

"What  say  you  now,  would  you  bind  the  poor  spirit 
down  to  earth?" 

Softened  by  the  hour  and  the  scene,  there  was  a  spell  in 
her  airy  grace,  her  music,  her  innocent  childlike  freedom, 
which  never  for  a  moment  trenched  on  the  gentleness  or  the 
delicacy  of  the  woman,  which  Everard  could  not  resist. 
She  had  stolen  insensibly  into  his  heart  as  a  lovely,  endear- 
ing child  ;  she  now  ruled  there  as  an  engaging  woman 
"With  an  impetuosity  that  marked  his  character,  he  yielded 
at  once  to  his  ardent  impulses  and  exclaimed,  "  Nay,  Evelyn, 
but  I  would  win  her  to  become  the  star  of  my  home — may 
it  be  so,  loveliest,  dearest?  without  you,  my  life  will  be 
lone  and  dark  as  that  of  the  exiled  spirit." 

He  would  have  taken  her  hand,  but  bewildered,  abashed, 
Evelyn  shrank  from  him. 

"  I  have  offended  you,  Evelyn,"  he  exclaimed  with  pas- 
sionate sorrow. 

"  Oh  no — no,  Mr.  Irving,  I  am  not  offended." 

"  Do  you  love  another,  then  ?"  and  his  tones  were  low 
and  sad. 

"  No — no,"  whispered  Evelyn,  "  but  I — I  scarcely  un- 
derstand you,  Mr.  Irving — I  never  thought  of  this — I  am  so 
young." 

"  Not  too  young  to  love  and  to  be  loved,  dearest.  Have 
you  never  longed  for  a  companion,  Evelyn,  who  should 
sympathize  with  you  more  fully  than  any  one  has  yet  done, 
and  who,  taught  by  that  sweet  sympathy,  should  anticipate 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  31 

your  wishes,  share  your  joys,  and  soothe  your  sorrows  ere 
they  were  spoken?  Do  you  not  wish  for  such  another 
self,  dear  Evelyn  ?" 

Evelyn  listened  with  surprise ;  he  seemed  to  have  read  her 
heart,  and  to  be  interpreting  its  inmost  desires  ;  and  her  coun- 
tenance full  of  interest,  her  hand  which  no  longer  resisted 
his  clasp,  gave  the  assent  which  her  tongue  refused  to  utter. 

"  You  have,  dearest — I  see  you  have,"  continued  Everard, 
joyously ;  "  and  it  is  to  be  such  a  companion  that  I  sue. 
Confide  in  me,  dear  Evelyn,  and  thus  will  I  sympathize  with 
your  joy,  and  shelter  you  in  my  very  heart  from  every  sor- 
row from  which  the  tenderest  love  can  guard  you.  Speak, 
dear  Evelyn,  or  at  least  give  me  one  encouraging  look! 
Turn  not  away  thy  beam,  star  of  my  life'!" 

The  impetuosity  with  which  Everard  had  first  spoken 
had  startled  his  companion,  but  now  his  tones  were  low  and 
gentle,  his  manner  composed  though  earnest.  It  had  been  a 
powerful  effort  thus  to  subdue  himself,  but  he  was  rewarded 
for  it.  Evelyn  no  longer  shrank  from  him  ;  her  hand  rested 
in  his,  and,  at  his  last  appeal,  a  smile  played  on  her  lip,  and 
she  turned  on  him  for  an  instant  a  glance  full  of  tenderness. 
Everard  resisted  the  impulse  to  fold  her  in  his  arms,  lest  he 
should  scare  away  the  timid  love  which  he  believed  to  be 
just  nestling  in  her  heart,  and  contented  himself  with  press- 
ing her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  drawing  it  affectionately  through 
his  arm  as  he  said,  "  Beloved  !  my  life's  devotion  shall  repay 
you  for  this  moment." 

Those  words,  so  gentle  and  so  sweet  to  Evelyn,  reached 
otr-°r  ears  than  hers,  and  fell,  alas !  like  a  crushing  weight 
an  another  heart. 

The  anxiety  of  her  friends  had  prevented  Mary's  attempt- 
ing to  exert  herself  so  much  as  the  consciousness  of  return- 
'ing  strength  would  have  prompted.  She  had  the  earnest 
desire  to  be  abroad  which  usually  ao  companies  convales- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


cence;  and  this  evening  she  had  determined  to  surprise 
Evelyn  and  Everard  by  meeting  them  on  their  return  home. 
Twenty  minutes  after  they  had  left  her,  she  wrapped  her 
shawl  around  her,  and  descending  the  steps,  pursued  the 
same  path  which  they  had  taken.  She  went  slowly,  linger- 
ingly,  hoping  each  moment  to  see  them  approaching ;  but 
they  came  not,  and  unwilling  to  be  disappointed  of  her 
promised  pleasure,  with  many  a  pause  for  rest  and  breath, 
she  went  on  and  on  till  the  river  lay  before  her,  and  there 
on  its  brink  stood  Everard  and  Evelyn,  with  their  faces  to- 
wards the  setting  sun,  and  turned  away  from  her.  She 
drew  near  them  with  stealthy  steps,  hoping  to  make  their 
surprise  complete  by  putting  her  hand  upon  them  ere  they 
were  aware  of  her  presence.  She  is  now  quite  near ;  a  play- 
ful smile  is  on  her  lip  at  the  thought  of  the  sensation  she  is 
about  to  produce.  The  westerly  breeze  wafts  to  her  the 
low  deep  tones,  the  very  words  in  which  Everard  makes 
that  pledge  of  his  life's  devotion.  The  smile  vanishes ;  her 
brow  contracts  with  an  expression  of  pain ;  her  pallid  lips 
are  pressed  together  as  if  to  stifle  a  cry ;  and  turning,  she 
moves  as  stealthily,  but  far  less  lingeringly,  and  with  no 
pause  for  rest,  back  to  the  house. 

About  an  hour  after,  as  Mr.  Beresford  was  sitting  at  the 
western  window  of  his  study,  reading  by  the  light  cast  from 
a  glowing  sky,  an  open  hand,  delicately  small  and  fair, 
was  placed  upon  the  page  before  him.  It  was  a  page  in 
which  he  was  deeply  interested,  yet  the  interruption  did 
not  displease  him;  and  even  while  he  exclaimed,  "Away 
with  you,  saucy  imp,  you  are  the  plague  of  my  life !"  he 
took  that  little  hand,  and  leaning  back  his  head,  looked 
affectionately  up  at  the  glowing  face  that  bent  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  Where  have  you  been  this  afternoon  ?"  he  asked,  as 
drawing  Evelyn  forward,  he  placed  her  on  his  knee. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  33 

She  colored  slightly  as  she  repeated  his  question— 
"Where  have  I  been?"  and  then  answered  by  singing 
playfully, 

"  I've  been  roaming — I've  been  roaming 
Over  hill  and  over  plain." 

"  And  where  has  your  friend  Mary  been  while  you  wer« 
roaming,  pert  one  ?" 

"  Mary !"  exclaimed  Evelyn,  with  sudden  recollection  of 
her  promise  to  her  friend ;  "  oh !  I  left  her  sitting  in  the 
piazza,  and  she  promised  to  sit  there  till  we  returned ;  but 
I  believe  we  were  away  longer  than  we  intended,  and  I 
suppose  she  must  have  grown  tired  of  waiting,  and  gone  to 
her  room." 

"  And  who  is  the  other  person  included  in  we  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Beresford,  smilingly  ;  "  for  I  presume  you  do  not  intend 
to  adopt  the  royal  style  of  expression." 

"  Mr.  Irving  was  with  me,"  said  Evelyn  simply,  looking 
out  of  the  window. 

"  Mr.  Irving !— By-the-by,  Evelyn,  I  think  it  would  be 
as  well  for  you  sometimes  to  leave  your  friend  and  -Mr.  Ir- 
ving alone  together.  I  am  much  mistaken  if  suoh  attentions 
as  his  spring  not  from  a  warmer  source  than  friendship,  and 
situated  as  she  is,  poor  thing !  I  shall  be  heartily  glad  to 
see  her  married  to  a  worthy  man." 

Evelyn  bowed  her  forehead  on  her  father's  shoulder,  but 
not  before  he  had  seen  the  crimson  which  flushed  quickly 
over  its  pearly  tint. 

"  Silly  child  !"  said  Mr.  Beresford,  "  you  could  not  blush 
more  if  I  was  suspecting  Mr.  Irving  of  being  in  love  with 
you.  But  where  are  you  going?"  he  asked,  as  Evelyn 
rose,  and  tried  to  remove  the  arm  that  detained  her. 

"  I  must  see  how  Mary  is.  I  have  not  seen  her  since  I 
came  in." 


34  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  Well,  go,"  said  Mr.  Beresford,  liberating  her,  "  and  tell 
hor  that  if  she  will  take  her  tea  with  us,  she  shall  have  a 
seat  at  my  side,  and  I  will  take  care  of  her." 

Evelyn  went,  but  scarcely  a  minute  had  passed  ere  she 
returned  with  sorrow  in  her  looks. 

"  Oh,  father  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  Mary  is  ill  again.  I  am 
sure  she  must  be  very  ill ;  for  Betty  will  not  let  me  go  in 
the  room,  and  says  herself  that  she  think&Mary  must  be 
delirious,  for  that  she  has  ordered  her  not  to  let  anybody 
come  in:  surely  she  cannot  mean  to  keep  me  out!"  and 
tears  of  wounded  feeling  rose  to  Evelyn's  eyes. 

"If  she  does,  my  love,"  said, Mr.  Beresford,  soothingly, 
"  it  can  only  be  because  she  is,  as  Betty  thinks,  delirious. 
But  we  will  send  for  Dr.  Huntly — she  will  not  refuse  to  see 
him.  Has  Mr.  Irving  returned  to  the  city  ?" 

"  No,  he  is  in  the  parlor ;"  and  Evelyn  colored  again  as 
she  remembered  on  what  subject  he  was  waiting  to  con- 
verse with  her  father.  She  did  not  accompany  Mr.  Beres- 
ford to  the  parlor.  His  rapid  announcement  of  Mary's  state 
left  Everard  no  time  for  his  communication ;  and  when 
that  announcement  had  been  received,  all  selfish  emotions 
were  forgotten  in  solicitude  for  her  ;  and  the  haste  with 
which  he  galloped  off  to  the  city,  that  he  might  send  Dr. 
Huntly  to  her  without  a  moment's  delay,  was  very  gratify- 
ing to  Mr.  Beresford's  benevolent  interest  in  his  young  ward's 
future  happiness.  Within  an  hour  Mary's  kind  old  physi- 
cian, Dr.  Huntly,  stood  beside  her  bed.  She  was  in  a  raging 
fever,  and  continued  vehemently  to  refuse  admittance  to  all 
others.  As  opposition  greatly  increased  her  fever,  Dr. 
Huntly  advised  perfect  submission  to  her  wishes,  though 
Evelyn  wept  with  passionate  sorrow  at  being  separated 
from  her.  A  servant  had  seen  Mary  returning  from  her 
walk,  and  Dr.  Huntly  declared  that  to  that  walk  she  was 
indebted  for  her  relapse.  "  It  was  madness,"  he  said,  "  to  go 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  35 

out  at  so  late  an  hour."  After  hovering  for  several  days 
between  life  and  death,  her  excellent  constitution  again  con- 
quered ;  and  though  reduced  to  the  feebleness  of  infancy, 
she  was  declared  out  of  danger. 

When  Evelyn  was  again  admitted  to  Mary's  apartment, 
shocked  at  the  altered  appearance  of  her  friend,  and  full  of 
tender  emotions  to  which  her  promises  to  be  very  quiet  for- 
bade her  to  give  full  expression,  she  sat  silently  caressing 
Mary's  hand,  and  occasionally  pressing  her  lips  to  her  brow, 
while  the  glistening  of  her  own  eyes,  and  the  quivering  of 
her  lip,  showed  with  what  difficulty  she  restrained  her  tears. 
M^ary  too  was  silent ;  but  no  glad  or  grateful  emotion  was 
visible  in  her  pallid  face,  nor  did  a  single  pressure  of  her  thin 
and  almost  transparent  fingers  respond  to  her  friend's  caresses. 
She  lay  with  closed  eyes  as  still  and  seemingly  as  insensible 
as  the  marble  statue  she  resembled,  till  Dr.  Huntly's  arrival 
put  an  end  to  the  interview.  As  the  agitated  Evelyn  with- 
drew from  the  room,  even  before  the  door  could  be  closed 
upon  her,  her  sobs  burst  forth,  and  with  that  convulsive 
sound  was  mingled  the  tones  of  a  manly  voice  soothing 
her  sorrow.  It  was  the  voice  of  Everard  Irving,  whose 
anxiety  for  both  the  friends  had  kept  him  hovering  near  the 
door.  As  these  sounds  met  Mary's  ear,  her  insensibility 
vanished,  her  pale  cheek  flushed,  and  large  tears  stole  from 
her  closed  eyes.  She  regained  her  health  much  more  slowly 
than  she  had  before  done,  and  not  as  then  did  her  cheerful- 
ness seem  to  return  with  it.  It  was  many  days  before  she 
was  able  to  sit,  supported  by  pillows,  on  the  couch  which 
she  occupied  when  first  introduced  to  the  reader.  When 
there,  she  could  no  longer  refuse  to  receive  Everard  Irving. 
In  their  first  interview,  as  in  that  with  Evelyn,  after  the 
crimson  flush  with  which  she  received  his  brotherly  caress  t 
had  passed  away,  there  was  a  marked  difference  between 
the  agitated  joy  of  her  visiter  and  Mary's  languid  passive- 


36  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

ness.  They  had  met  several  times,  when  one  morning 
Everard  finding  her  alone,  said,  afler  his  usual  affectionate 
greeting,  "  You  are  looking  better  this  morning,  dear  Mary; 
are  you  well  enough  to  listen  to  a  story  that  I  have  been 
longing  to  tell  you  these  three  weeks  past  ?  Do  not  look 
so  terrified ;  it  is  a  very  short  story,  and  I  do  not  think  it 
will  tire  you.  May  I  tell  it  ?" 

If  Mary  had  been  terrified,  as  Everard  said,  at  his  first 
proposition,  she  had  quickly  overcome  her  terror,  for  in 
firmer  and  even  gayer  tones  than  he  had  heard  from  her 
since  her  illness,  she  answered  him,  "  Oh  certainly  you  may 
tell  it,  but  you  need  not,  for  I  have  learned  it  already — the 
birds  of  the  air  have  sung  it  to  me.  You  lo^e  Evelyn,  Ev- 
elyn loves  you,  Mr.  Beresford  has  consented  to  your  mar- 
riage, and — and — jo\i  have  only  to  tell  me  the  time." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  the  laughing  Everard,  too  much  ab- 
sorbed in  his  own  joyous  emotions  to  notice  the  abruptness 
of  his  companion's  conclusion,  or  the  fixed  gaze  with  which 
she  awaited  his  reply,  "  you  really  make  a  short  story  of  it — 
far  shorter,  I  fear,  than  Mr.  Beresford  will  do." 

"  Does  Mr.  Beresford  object  to  you  as  the  suitor  of  his 
daughter  ?" 

"  No,  not  as  her  suitor — nor  to  me  especially  as  her  hus- 
band— but  he  objects  to  her  marriage  at  all  at  present — in- 
deed, it  seems  to  me  that  he  would  gladly,  if  possible,  pre- 
vent her  ever  marrying." 

Mary  remained  silent,  and  Everard,  after  a  short  pause, 
proceeded,  "  When  first  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Beresford  on  the 
subject  of  my  attachment  to  Evelyn,  and  my  hope  that  her 
heart  was  not  insensible  to  that  attachment,  he  evinced  an 
agitation  which  seemed  strange  indeed  in  one  ordinarily  so 
tranquil  and  cheerful.  While  I  was  speaking  he  started 
from  his  chair,  and  traver^Kl  the  room  with  folded  arms  and 
hurried  steps;  then,  pausing  before  me.  said,  '  You  know 


CHARMS    AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  37 

not,  sir,  how  much  you  distress  me.'  I  felt  hurt,  and  would 
have  remonstrated,  but  he  impatiently  interrupted  me.  '  I 
have  nothing  against  you ;  on  the  contrary,  there  is  every 
thing  in  your  circumstances  and  character  to  make  your  al- 
liance desirable — but  my  Evelyn,  my  gentle  child — '  His 
countenance  became,  more  agitated,  and  I  hastened  to  say, 
'  She  need  not  be  separated  from  you,  sir ;  I  will  make  my 
home  wherever  you  desire.'  '  And  do  you  suppose  it  is  of 
myself  I  am  thinking?'  he  asked  almost  indignantly.  'To 
secure  her  happiness  I  wouid  be  willing  never  to  see  her 
again ;  but  to  see  that  bright,  sunny  face  overshadowed  by 
sorrow — this  would  be  too  much— toa  much.'  '  But  why 
should  it  be  so,  sir  ?'  I  insisted.  '  I  love  your  daughter 
tenderly.'  'Not  better  than  I  loved  her  mother,'  he  ex- 
claimed with  passionate  earnestness,  'yet  she  never  smiled 
after  marriage  as  she  had  done  before,  and  thus  if  will  be 
with  her  child,  for  Evelyn's  nature  is  sensitive  as  her 
mother's  was.'  I  was  touched,  and  said  with  feeling,  '  And 
1  will  guard  her  sensitiveness  from  every  rude  approach — 
the  very  winds  of  Heaven  shall  not  visit  her  cheek  too 
roughly.'  '  I  doubt  not  your  good  intentions,'  he  replied, 
'  but  no  man  can  adapt  himself  to  such  a  nature  as  hers — if 
it  were  possible,  her  mother  had  never  known  a  sorrow.' 
'  But  do  you  mean,  sir,  that  your  daughter  shall  never  mar- 
ry ?'  '  I  almost  hoped  she  never  would,'  he  answered  ;  '  in 
this  secluded  home  there  seemed  little  danger — at  least,  I 
hoped  the  evil  day  was  afar  off;  but  now — well,  all  I  can 
do  is  to  delay  it  yet  a  little.  Evelyn  is  too  young,  sir,  under 
any  circumstances,  to  think  seriously  of  marriage  for  at  least 
a  year  to  come.  She  will  have  yet  one  year  of  unclouded 
brightness,'  he  added  in  a  sort  of  interjectional  tone'.  In 
vain  have  been  all  my  efforts  to  change  this  decision.  Mr. 
Beresford's  agitation  has  passed  away,  leaving  only  a  soft- 
ened tone  and  manner  towards  Evelyn.  He  receives  me  a* 
4 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CI' ARMS. 


kindly  as  ever,  but  he  insists  rigidly  that  one  year  from  the 
date  of  our  conversation  shall  pass  away,  before  I  even  at- 
tempt to  fetter  his  daughter  by  an  engagement.  He  trusts 
so  entirely  to  my  honor,  never  placing  the  least  restraint  on 
our  intercourse,  that  I  cannot  disoblige  him  by  endeavoring 
to  win  a  secret  promise  from  her.  By-the-by,"  added  Ev- 
erard,  laughing,  "  I  do  not  know  that  I  deserve  much  credit 
for  my  self-command,  as  Evelyn  candidly  acknowledged  to 
me,  that  if  she  should  make  me  such  a  promise,  she  knew 
it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  sleep  till  she  had  confessed 
it  to  her  father.  How  I  loved  her  for  her  frank  simplicity  !" 

Everard  had  finished  his  narration,  but  Mary  made  no 
comment. 

"  Not  a  word,  Mary,"  he  exclaimed,  "  in  return  for  all 
this  long  story." 

"  What  shall  I  say?"  she  asked,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  that 
I  rejoice  in  your  happiness,  you  cannot  doubt." 

"  Happiness  it  will  indeed  be  if  Evelyn  be  mine — with 
such  a  wife  and  such  a  sister,"  and  turning  affectionately  to 
Mary,  Everard  passed  his  arm  around  her  and  attempted  to 
draw  her  to  him,  but  repulsing  his  arm  with  a  slight  shud- 
der, she  sank  back  on  her  pillows,  saying,  "  Leave  me  now, 
I  am  weary — faint." 

He  would  have  offered  her  some  restorative,  but  she 
waved  him  off  impatiently,  saying  she  needed  nothing  but 
rest  and  quiet. 

From  the  moment  that  Mr.  Beresford  had  been  made 
acquainted  with  the  unpleasant  fact,  that  his  daughter  no 
longer  regarded  herself  or  was  regarded  by  others  as  a 
child,  his  thoughts  had  been  much  and  painfully  occupied 
with  her  future.  He  had  secured  for  her  another  year  of 
freedom,  but  he  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  to  himself, 
that  if  that  year  were  spent  in  the  seclusion  of  her  past  life, 
she  would  be  little  better  prepared  at  its  conclusion  to  de- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  39 

cide  for  herself  than  she  now  was.  In  her  retired  life,  with 
whom  was  she  to  compare  Everard  Irving  ?  how  to  test  her 
own  feelings  towards  him  ?  Mr.  Beresford  approved  him, 
valued  him,  and  if  Evelyn  must  marry  so  early,  there  was 
none  with  whom  he  would  so  willingly  intrust  her  happi- 
ness ;  but  it  would  be  unjust  to  him,  and  a  dangerous  ex- 
periment on  Evelyn's  peace,  to  suffer  her  to  marry  him 
without  some  acquaintance  with  society.  Might  not  the 
feelings  which  had  excited  Everard's  hopes  and  fears,  be 
but  the  natural  gratification  of  a  young  and  susceptible 
heart  at  the  accents  of  praise  and  tenderness — if  these  were 
heard  from  other  voices,  might  not  his  lose  its  power? 
With  many  from  whom  to  choose,  might  not  choice  become 
difficult,  and  the  change  which  he  so  much  dreaded  for  her 
be  longer  delayed  ?  Such  were  Mr.  Beresford's  reasons 
for  resolving  that  Evelyn's  next  winter  should  be  passed  in 
the  city,  even  though,  to  accomplish  his  purpose,  he  should 
be  compelled  to  abandon  the  retreat  so  dear  to  him  and 
become  again  a  man  of  the  world.  Already  he  began  to 
renew  acquaintanceships  that  had  lain  dormant  for  years, 
not  without  a  hope  that  he  might  find  some  lady  to  whose 
protection  he  might  wholly  intrust  his  daughter,  during 
her  sojourn  in  the  city,  and  thus  obviate  the  necessity  for 
his  own  removal.  But  a  lady  who  should  satisfy  his  de- 
mands was  not  easily  found.  Some  were  too  grave  and 
secluded  to  give  full  play  to  his  scheme — others  too  frivo- 
lous to  be  trusted  with  such  a  treasure  as  his  Evelyn.  Some 
had  disagreeable  husbands — others  too  agreeable  sons  or 
brothers.  He  had  almost  despaired,  when  an  accidental 
encounter  with  Mrs.  Mabury  at  a  dinner-party  invigorated 
his  hopes. 

With  great  beauty,  captivating  manners,  a  ready  wit, 
a  highly-cultivated  mind,  and,  best  gift  of  all,  that  nice 
tact  wliich,  by  enabling  her  to  adapt  herself  to  the  com- 


40  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

panion  of  the  hour,  gave  value  to  all  lier  other  gifts. 
Mrs.  Mabury  could  "  win  golden  opinions  from  all  sorts 
of  people;"  and  she  was  remembered  by  Mr.  Beresford  as 
one  of  the  few  women  of  fashion  he  had  known,  who  yet 
retained  a  relish  for  higher  pursuits.  If  he  had  liked  her 
society  formerly,  his  pleasure  in  it  was  greatly  increased 
now  that  the  names  of  the  poet,  the  philosopher,  or  the 
scholar  of  distant  lands,  whose  works  were  the  chosen 
companions  of  his  solitude,  had  become  to  her  familiar 
words, — that  she  could  describe  their  persons,  their  daily 
habits,  repeat  their  observations,  and  by  her  vivid  sketches 
bring  them  almost  in  bodily  shape  before  him.  The  on  dits 
which  had  thrown  a  shadow  over  her  image  in  the  mind  of 
Everard  Irving;  were  little  likely  to  be  repeated  to  him, 
and  if  they  had  been,  would  scarcely  have  found  a  listener, 
far  less  a  believer,  in  the  charitable  and  unworldly  Mr. 
Beresford. 

Mr.  Beresford  was  no  manoeuverer,  and  he  communicated 
to  Mrs.  Mabury,  with  little  circumlocution,  in  their  first  in- 
terview, his  wish  that  Evelyn  should  enter  society  under 
her  auspices. 

"  Have  you  established  yourself  for  the  winter  ?"  he  in- 
quired of  her. 

"  Yes,  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  ready-furnished 
house  to  be  let  for  the  winter,  just  where  I  desire  to  be, 
No.  —  Broadway.  I  have  moved  into  it  already,  and  re- 
taining eveiy  thing  just  as  it  was — the  same  servants  and 
even  the  pet  cat — I  was  at  home  at  once." 

"  You  have  done  very  wisely — nothing  disturbs  me  so 
much  as  the  idea  of  removing  to  a  house  where  nothing  has 
yet  found  its  place,  and  everybody  is  running  about  looking 
for  every  thing.  Could  I  walk  at  once,  as  you  have  done, 
into  a  well-arranged  home,  I  should  be  tempted  to  come  to 
the  city  this  winter  for  the  sake  of  my  little  girl." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  41 

«'  To  place  her  at  school  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Mabury. 

"  No — no — she  is  rather  over  age  for  that,"  said  Mr. 
Beresford  gayly ;  "  at  seventeen,  I  suppose,  I  must  admit 
that  she  is  no  longer  a  child,  and  begin  at  least  to  think  ot 
showing  her  something  more  of  the  world  than  she  is  likely 
to  see  at  my  country-place." 

"  Let  her  come  and  make  me  a  visit,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury. 

"  Come  first,  and  make  one  to  us.  My  house  is  but  a 
pleasant  drive  from  the  city ;  and  if,  when  you  have  seen 
my  Evelyn,  you  repeat  your  invitation,  you  will  gratify  my 
first  wish,  for  to  confess  the  truth,  I  have  been  endeavoring 
for  the  last  five  minutes  to  frame  a  request  that,  should  she 
come  into  the  city  this  winter,  you  would  take  her  under 
your  aegis." 

"  It  will  give  me  pleasure  to  do  so."  And  in  this  Mrs. 
Mabury  spoke  truly ;  for  too  confident  in  her  own  attrac- 
tions to  apprehend  rivalry,  she  delighted  in  adding  to  the 
charm  of  her  home,  by  surrounding  herself  with  the  young 
and  gay. 

The  visit,  thus  promised,  had  been  made.  Mrs.  Mabury 
had  been  delighted  with  Evelyn's  beauty,  grace,  and  nalvet£, 
and  Evelyn  had  been  charmed  with  her  elegance,  and  her 
gay,  good-humored  frankness.  Mrs.  Mabury 's  invitation 
had  been  readily  repeated,  and  as  readily  accepted,  foi 
that  visit  which  inspired  Evelyn  with  such  joyous  anticipa- 
tions at  the  moment  of  her  introduction  to  the  reader. 

Mrs.  Mabury,  on  learning  the  existence  of  a  Miss  Ray- 
mond— a  ward  of  Mr.  Beresford — would  have  extended  hei 
invitation  to  her,  but  was  told  that,  in  consequence  of  hei 
father's  recent  death  and  her  own  feeble  health,  she  declined 
all  society  at  present,  except  that  of  intimate  friends. 
4* 


42  CHARMS  AND  CObNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Socrate  s'y  trouverait  pris 
Malgr6  sa  philosophie." 

RACINE. 

" We  receive  but  what  we  give, 

And  in  our  life  alone  does  nature  live  ; 

Ours  is  her  wedding-garment — ours  her  shroud." 

COLERIDGE. 

MORE  inveterate  ill-humor  than  that  of  Everard  Irving 
could  scarce  have  resisted  the  enlivening  influence  of  a  rapid 
ride  through  the  bracing  air  of  that  bright  October  day, 
with  gay  companions  in  whose  light  laugh  mingled  the  sil- 
very tones  of  the  voice  best  loved.  Before  he  had  entered 
the  streets  of  New  York,  his  anticipations  of  evil  had  faded 
into  indistinctness  before  the  brightness  of  his  present  enjoy- 
ment. Still  and  stately,  Euston  Hastings  unbent  from  his 
reserve  only  to  Mrs.  Mabury ;  and  as  Everard  glanced  from 
his  shadowy  brow  to  the  sunny  face  of  Evelyn,  he  assured 
himself  that  there  was  little  cause  to  apprehend  his  influence 
over  her  mind,  less  to  fear  that  he  could  ever  interest  her 
heart. 

Conscious  that  he  had  hitherto  evinced  no  desire  for  the 
acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Mabury,  it  was  with  some  hesitation 
that  Everard,  having  assisted  Evelyn  from  her  horse,  ap- 
proached her  to  make  his  parting  salutations.  As  if  she  had 
divined  the  wish  which  he  hesitated  to  express,  she  said, 
"  I  shall  bid  good-morning  to  you  now,  Mr.  Irving,  for  I 
must  have  Miss  Beresford  all  to  myself  for  the  next  hour  or 
two ;  but  we  dine  at  five  o'clock,  and  I  shall  be  happy  to 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  43 

see  you  then,  if  you  have  no  more  agreeable  engagement. 
You  will  meet  only  the  present  party." 

It  will  not  be  doubted  that  her  invitation  was  accepted. 

"  Well,  Evelyn,  I  have  secured  the  next  two  hours  to 
ourselves,  by  giving  orders  to  admit  no  visitors ;  so  I  can 
show  you  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  house — not  my  house, 
remember — we  are  not  to  be  hostess  and  guest,  entertainer 
and  entertained ;  but  just  two  people  who  mean  to  be  as 
merry  as  they  can,  and  above  all  things,  to  do  just  as  they 
please.  Do  you  agree  to  it  ?" 

"  To  do  as  I  please  ?— oh,  yes,"  replied  the  amused  Ev- 
elyn, "it  is  what  I  always  dp.". 

"  That  is  right ;  you  are  sure  of  giving  pleasure  to  one 
at  least,  if  you  please  yourself.  When  you  want  company, 
you  will  generally  find  somebody  in  these  rooms,"  glancing 
through  the  large  parlors  whose  wide  doors  were  now 
thrown  open,  making  them  appear  as  one;  "if  you  would 
be  alone,  follow  me,  and  I  will  show  you  your  boudoir." 

Mrs.  Mabury  led  the  way  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
opening  a  door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  intro- 
duced Evelyn  into  a  room  leading  into  a  conservatory  by 
glass  doors.  J^  fire  burned  brightly  in  the  grate,  harmor 
nizing  with  the  rich  colors  of  the  carpet,  and  the  warm 
crimson  of  the  embossed  velvet  covering  of  the  chairs  and 
sofa,  which  were  its  only  furniture,  except  a  small  but  well- 
filled  bookcase,  a  harp,  and  piano.  But  Evelyn  scarcely 
saw  any  thing  within  the  room  ;  she  had  flown  to  the  glass 
doors,  and  was  gazing  with  delight  upon  roses  and  acacias 
and  jessamines  and  orange-trees  full  of  bloom,  among  which 
birds  were  flying  almost  as  free  and  singing  quite  as  merrily 
as  in  their  native  woods. 

"  Beautiful !  beautiful ! — I  fear  if  the  price  of  entrance 
here  is  wishing  to  be  alone,  I  shall  wish  to  be  alone  very 
often,"  said  Evelyn,  naively;  the  next  moment  her  heart 


44  CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

smote  her  for  seeming  indifference  to  her  hostess,  and  she 
added,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  hers,  "  but  you  will  come 
sometimes  and  see  how  much  I  enjoy  it." 

"  Certainly ;  I  will  ccme  as  often  as  you  can  desire,  if 
you  will  give  expression  to  your  pleasure  in  sweet  sounds," 
and  Mrs.  Mabury  pointed  to  the  harp  and  piano. 

"  You  shall  have  my  best  music  whenever  you  command 
it ;  but  am  I  not  taking  from  you  your  own  pet  room — your 
boudoir  ?" 

"  No ;  this  was  furnished  as  you  see,  with  the  exception 
of  the  harp  and  some  addition  to  the  conservatory,  when  I 
came  here.  My  pets  must  be  all  my  own,  and  so  I  have 
refurnished  a  single  room  hi  the  house  for  my  boudoir. 
Come  and  see  it." 

Passing  again  into  the  hall,  Mrs.  Mabury  led  Evelyn  into 
a  smaller  room  occupying  the  centre  of  the  southern  side  of 
the  house.  In  this  room  there  was  no  fireplace ;  yet  its 
warmth  was  evidently  not  all  the  effect  of  the  sun,  which 
was  pouring  its  rapidly-declining  beams  through  the  muslin 
lined  with  rose-colored  silk  that  draperied  its  only  window. 
This  window  was  double,  and  the  light  admitted  by  its  un- 
usual width,  falling  through  its  delicately-colored  drapery, 
gave  to  the  room  an  aspect  of  such  peculiar  cheerfulness, 
as  proved  that  he  who  had  first  expressed  bright  views  of 
life  by  " couleur  de  rose"  had  been  indebted  to  his  observa- 
tion for  the  happy  epithet.  The  walls  were  covered  with  a 
silvered  paper.  The  same  silvery  tint  formed  the  ground  of 
the  soft  Turkey  carpet,  whose  flowers,  though  so  vivid  that 
they  almost  invited  the  hand  to  pluck  them,  contained  not 
one  glaring  color.  Downy  cushions  lay  piled  upon  the  car- 
pet, covered  with  an  embroidered  satin  of  the  same  chaste 
hue  with  its  ground.  One  chair,  which  well  deserved  the 
name  of  "  Sleepy  Hollow,"  and  a  couch  of  exquisitely  grace- 
ful form,  offered  resting-places  to  those  who  rejected  the 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  45 

cushions.  The  only  other  furniture  in  the  room  were  two 
small  tables  ;  the  top  of  one  was  of  white  marble,  the  other 
of  mosaic.  On  the  last  stood  a  porte-feuille,  a  box  of  cameo 
seals,  and  a  richly-chased  silver  inkstand ;  on  the  other, 
a  porcelain  vase  filled  with  flowers,  amongst  which  the 
orange  was  betrayed  by  its  perfume.  Two  cabinet  pic- 
tures, purchased  by  Mrs.  Mabury  in  Italy  as  genuine  Claude 
Lorraines,  completed  the  list  of  objects  m  this  exquisite 
room. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  it  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Mabury,  after 
waiting  several  minutes  for  some  expression  of  Evelyn's  ad- 
miration. 

"  It  is  beautiful — every  thing  in  it  is  beautiful,  and  all 
harmonize  admirably  ;  yet  I  like  my  room  best :  this  seems 
meant  for  rest,  that  for  enjoyment." 

"  Some  ten  or  twelve  years  more  of  life  may  teach  you, 
Evelyn,  that  rest  is  the  most  perfect  enjoyment." 

Evelyn  shook  her  head  with  an  incredulous  smile  as  she 
said,  "  Not  to  me ;  I  am  only  willing  to  rest  that  I  may  be 
more  awake,  more  alive  to  enjoyment  afterwards." 

"  Because,  hitherto,  all  your  senses  have  been  avenues  of 
joy." 

A  slight  shadow  had  fallen  on  Mrs.  Mabury's  gay  coun- 
tenance, but  it  passed  as  she  added,  "But  let  me  tell  you, 
Evelyn,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  enjoyment  comprised  in 
this  little  room."  She  drew  from  under  one  of  the  pillows 
of  the  couch  a  book,  and  continued,  "  Here  the  mind  may 
be  active  while  the  body  is  at  rest ;  and  this  cheerful  light, 
this  harmonious  coloring,  the  perfumed  air,  and  those  sunny 
landscapes,  lull  the  senses  into  a  dreamy  delight." 

On  leaving  this  room,  Mrs.  Mabury  conducted"  her  young 
visiter  to  her  own  apartment  to  dress  for  dinner,  saying,  as 
she  left  her  there,  "  I  will  call  for  you  on  my  way  down 
stairs,  Evelyn ;  but  do  not  wait  for  me  if  you  are  dressed 


46  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

before  I  come :  you  will  find  amusement  in  your  music  or 
books  below,  and  I  will  join  you  there." 

To  Evelyn,  simple  and  natural  in  all  things,  the  labors  of 
the  toilette  were  light.  When  they  were  completed,  she 
looked  about  for  something  with  which  to  while  away  the 
time  till  Mrs.  Mabury  should  call  for  her,  but  looked  ir 
vain.  After  waiting  probably  -little  more  than  five  minutes, 
which  seemed  to  her  fifteen  at  least,  the  music  and  books, 
the  flowers  and  birds  attracted  her  irresistibly,  and  with  a 
little  timid  hesitation  she  found  her  way  to  them.  Taking 
a  volume  from  the  bookcase,  she  seated  herself  with  it ;  but 
well  as  she  loved  reading,  Evelyn  loved  birds  and  flowers 
better,  and  after  beginning  one  sentence  three  or  four  times, 
and  turning  away  from  it  as  often  to  look  at  her  favorites, 
she  threw  the  book  aside,  and  satisfying  herself  by  a  glance 
at  the  alabaster  clock  that  she  would  probably  be  alone  for 
another  half-hour  at  least,  she  passed  into  the  conservatory. 

"  I  can  see  if  any  one  enters  the  room,"  thought  Evelyn, 
"  and  return  directly," — but  she  soon  ceased  to  look  for  or 
think  of  any  one,  as  she  bent  admiringly  and  lovingly  over 
the  snowdrops  and  anemones,  and  all  the  minute  treasures 
of  Flora,  which,  hidden  among  the  luxuriant  shrubs,  re- 
quired to  be  sought  for,  and  well  repaid  the  search.  There 
were  some  creeping  plants  which  had  been  led  to  the  roof 
of  the  building  and  fell  thence  in  festoons.  Among  these 
were  the  graceful  and  fragrant  clusters  of  a  jessamine,  which 
Evelyn  repeatedly  and  vainly  tried  to  reach  by  springing 
towards  it.  Laughing  at  her  own  failure  she  drew  to  her 
an  empty  flower-stand,  and  ascending  it  found  tnat  sne 
could  just  reach  the  coveted  branch.  As  she  stood  there, 
with  her  head  thrown  back,  her  arms  elevated,  and  the 
perfect  outline  of  her  form  veiled  only  by  the  curls  which 
fell  almost  to  her  waist,  the  door  of  the  parlor  was  opened 
and  Euston  Hastings  entered,  and  moving  gently — Euston 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  47 

Hastings  never  moved  otherwise — towards  the  conservatory, 
stood  silently  observing  her.  The  unconscious  Evelyn, 
ha\ing  obtained  the  jessamine,  still  retained  her  place  upon 
the  stand  while  she  wove  its  starry  flowers  and  glossy  leaves 
nmong  her  ringlets,  Avarbling  all  the  time  in  gentle  tonea 
with  the  hope  of  wooing  back  to  their  perches  the  fluttering 
birds  whom  her  ascent  had  frightened  away.  She  fancied 
that  some  of  her  notes  were  repeated  by  the  feathered 
songsters,  and  giving  fuller  scope  to  her  voice,  she  trilled 
forth  the  Bird  Waltz  with  as  much  airy  freedom  as  if  she 
had  been  a  bird  herself  and  the  music  wholly  spontaneous, 
now  lingering  on  some  sweet  note,  and  now  repeating  again 
and  again  some  bars  which  seemed  to  her  most  likely  to 
win  her  chirping  and  fluttering  auditors.  In  the  midst  of 
one  'of  these  refrains  a  slight  noise  attracted  her  attention, 
and  turning  she  saw  Euston  Hastings.  Springing  to  the 
floor  she  bent  with  a  blushing  cheek  over  the  flowers,  wish- 
ing that  any  one  rather  than  that  solemn  Mr.  Hastings,  of 
whom  she  had  always  felt  some  awe,  had  seen  her  play  the 
child.  Euston  Hastings  opened  the  door  at  which  he  was 
standing,  and  said,  "  Do  you  sing  only  for  birds,  Miss  Beres- 
ford,  or  may  I  hope  to  be  equally  favored  ?  Come,  I  will 
draw  the  harp  near  this  door,  and  the  birds  shall  share  my 
enjovment  as  I  have  done  theirs." 

His  tones  were  so  gentle  that  Evelyn  raised  her  eyes  with 
more  confidence  than  she  had  ever  yet  done  to  his  face.  It 
was  lighted  by  a  smile  full  of  tender  beauty,  which  won  as 
irresistibly  as  its  usual  expression  of  power  commanded,  and 
Evelyn  hesitated  not  a  moment  in  complying  with  his  de- 
sire. As  she  placed  herself  at  the  harp  she  said,  "  I  will 
sing  for  you,  Mr.  Hastings,  if  you  wish  it,  but  I  had  so  little 
success  in  my  efforts  to  please  the  birds  that  I  will  not  ven- 
ture to  cheose  for  you.  What  shall  my  song  be  ?" 

"  Your  own  favorite  I  doubt  not  will  please  me." 


48  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  I  have  many  favorites." 

"  What,  at  once !  That  exceeds  the  privilege  of  your  sex. 
One  should  be  allowed  to  rule,  for  the  hour  at  least." 

Had  Evelyn  seen  the  sneer  which  accompanied  thest 
words  she  might  have  repented  her  promise  to  sing,  bul 
occupied  with  tuning  her  harp  it  passed  unobserved. 

"  Here  is  my  last  favorite,"  she  said  ;  and  after  a  plaintive 
prelude  she  sang  the  following  simple  words  to  an  air  a? 
simple  and  as  melancholy  as  themselves : — 

i. 
Thou  speakest  kindly  words,  beloved, 

And  there  beameth  in  thine  eye 
The  gentle  light  that  made  me  glad 

In  days  now  long  gone  by. 
Those  words  fall  on  my  ear,  beloved, 

But  my  listening  heart  is  still  5 
That  light— I  meet  its  gentle  beams, 
Yet  feel  no  glad?ning  thrill. 

n. 
Thy  heart— it  speaketh  not,  beloved, 

When  ».hy  voice  is  in  my  ear, 
A  ad  'tis  the  heart's  deep  tone  alone 

That  other  hearts  can  hear. 
Gentle  the  beams  by  pity  shed, 

JJut  like  the  moon's  cold  light 
They  shine  not  till  life's  sun  hath  set, 

And  gild  its  cheerless  night. 

"  Are  all  your  favorites  as  melancholy  as  this  ?"  asked 
jSuston  Hastings  when  Evelyn  had  concluded  her  song. 

"Most  of  them  are — my  father  says  I  give  vent  in  song 
to  all  the  melancholy  in  my  nature.  It  is  but  little,  I  think." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Euston  Hastings  musingly,  as  he  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  her,  "  it  is  in  the  art  we  love,  whether  paint- 
ing or  sculpture  or  music,  that  the  truest  and  deepest  emo- 
tions of  our  nature — our  true  selves  find  expression." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  49 

There  was  music,  melancholy  music,  in  the  deep  tones  of 
Euston  Hastings's  voice,  and  it  had  the  power  of  music 
over  Evelyn's  feelings,  but  she  strove  to  shake  it  off,  saying, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  with  a  gay  smile,  "  I  assure  you, 
Mr.  Hastings,  in  spite  of  my  music,  I  am  not  in  the  least  a 
melancholy  person.  But  now  that  you  have  heard  my  fa- 
vorite may  I  not  know  yours  ?" 

"  Do  you  sing  Italian  ?" 

"  No — I  do  not  understand  the  language,  and  my  father 
will  not  listen  to  songs  from  me  which  I  do  not  understand." 

"  And  do  you  learn  your  songs  for  your  father's  ear  ?" 
asked  Euston  Hastings  with  a  smile. 

Before  Evelyn  could  answer  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs. 
Mabury  entered.  If  her  appearance  and  that  of  Evelyn 
contrasted  in  the  morning,  the  dress  which  each  had  now 
assumed  rendered  that  contrast  far  more  striking.  Evelyn's 
dress  was  a  white  muslin,  and  her  hair  was  unconfined  save 
by  the  wreath  of  jessamine  which  she  had  twined  around  her 
head.  A  crimson  turban,  whose  countless  folds  were  confined 
just  above  the  temple  with  a  diamond  aigrette,  contrasted 
admirably  with  Mrs.  Mabury's  jetty  curls,  and  gave  new 
brilliancy  to  the  clear  and  rich  coloring  of  her  complexion. 
A  black  dress,  confined  at  the  waist  and  wrists  with  diamond 
clasps,  and  a  pelerine  of  exquisite  Mechlin  lace,  completed 
a  costume  at  once  elegant  and  chaste.  Euston  Hastings 
fastened  on  her  an  admiring  gaze,  which  she  met  with  a 
complacent  smile.  As  she  drew  near  he  took  her  hand, 
saying,  "  You  are  just  in  time,  Estelle ;  Miss  Beresford  wishes 
to  know  my  favorite  song.  As  she  is  not  acquainted  with 
Italian  music,  the  name  would  give  her  no  information,  but 
if  you  will  sing  it  she  will  approve  my  taste,  I  am  sure." 

"  To  give  it  full  effect  you  must  sing  with  me,"  Mrs. 
Mabury  replied,  as  she  took  her  place  at  the  harp  fronc 
which  Evelyn  had  moved. 

5 


50  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  understand  the  words  in  order  to 
feel  the  influence  of  the  wild  passion  breathing  through 
every  note  of  the  brilliant  Italian  sonata,  which  now  seemed 
to  gush  forth  from  Mrs.  Mabury's  very  soul.  Poweiful  as 
was  her  voice  and  brilliant  as  was  her  execution,  there 
mingled  with  hers,  tones  deeper,  more  melodious,  and  more 
expressive  of  passionate  emotion.  Evelyn's  whole  being 
thrilled  beneath  that  music.  Her  cheeks  flushed,  her  tear- 
ful eyes  were  cast  timidly  down,  and  as  Euston  Hastings 
turned  towards  her  at  the  conclusion  of  the  song,  he  ex- 
claimed, almost  involuntarily,  "  You  must  understand  us, 
for  you  express  in  countenance  and  air  the  embodied  senti- 
ment of  the  song." 

"  I  do  not  understand  it,  but  I  feel  it,"  was  Evelyn's  reply. 

Everard  Irving  entered  scon  after,  and  his  entrance  was 
quickly  followed  by  the  announcement  of  dinner.  The  most 
fastidious  epicure  might  have  been  satisfied  with  the  ar- 
rangements of  Mrs.  Mabury's  cuisine,  yet  in  this  consisted 
the  least  charm  of  this  day's  dinner.  It  was  scarce  possible 
to  recognise  the  reserved,  silent  Euston  Hastings  in  him 
whose  brilliant  descriptions,  vivid  portraitures  of  character, 
and  touching  anecdotes,  kept  the  minds  of  his  hearers  in 
the  most  charmed  attention ;  while  Mrs.  Mabury,  by  her 
quick  repartee,  her  happy  quotation,  and  occasional  graceful 
repetition  of  some  sparkling  Ion-mot,  played  admirably  the 
part  of  his  second.  Hours  were  passed  thus  agreeably  be- 
fore Mrs.  Mabury  and  Evelyn  withdrew,  yet  Euston  Hastings 
remonstrated  on  their  going. 

"  Why  do  you  go?"  he  asked  of  Mrs.  Mabury,  "  I  thought 
you  intended  to  give  no  countenance  to  that  pernicious 
English  custom  of  leaving  men  to  console  themselves  for 
your  absence  by  wine." 

"  You  may  follow  us  as  soon  as  you  will.  I  might  have 
forgotten  the  rest  of  the  world  in  our  agreeable  party,  if 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  51 

John  had  permitted  me,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury,  pointing  to  the 
servant  who  had  several  times  announced  to  her  the  arrival 
of  evening  visiters,  and  who  was  again  approaching  for  that 
purpose. 

Neither  Euston  Hastings  nor  Everard  Irving  lingered  long 
over  their  wine,  yet  when  they  entered  the  drawing-room 
they  found  Mrs.  Mabury  already  surrounded  by  other  guests. 
Separating  herself,  from  them  she  approached  Everard. 
"  This  is  an  evening,"  she  said,  "  on  which  I  receive  all  my 
friends,  I  must  not  say  entertain  them,  for  in  truth  I  leave 
them  to  emertam  themselves.  I  hope  you  have  no  engage- 
ment which  will  prevent  your  remaining — Miss  Beresford 
will  be  glad  to  see  a  familiar  face  among  the  crowd." 

Everard  accepted  her  invitation,  and  could  Evelyn  have 
read  his  thoughts  of  Mrs.  Mabury  as  he  pursued  his  solitary 
way  homewards,  she  would  have  smiled  at  the  contrast  they 
presented  to  the  decided  "I  do  not  like  her,"  uttered  but  a 
few  hours  before. 

"  She  is  certainly  very  pleasing,"  Everard  now  said  to 
himself,  "  and  in  judging  her  we  must  not  forget  that  France 
and  Italy  have  given  their  tinge  to  her  manners.  What  an 
agreeable  hostess  she  is !  I  hope  she  may  be  able  to  intro- 
duce a  little  of  her  graceful  freedom  into  our  society." 

So  irresistible  is  the  charm  of  those  subtle  influences  per- 
vading tone,  look,  movement,  which  we  denominate  manner  ! 
When  will  the  discords  of  earthly  existence  be  harmonized, 
and  beauty  and  grace  become  as  they  were  in  Paradise,  the 
visible  expression  of  the  spirit's  purity  and  loveliness  ? 

As  was  the  history  of  this  day,  so  was  that  of  many 
succeeding  ones  to  Evelyn.  In  Mrs.  Mabury 's  house  pleas- 
ure was  the  aim  of  life,  and  serious  thought  was  rarely  suf- 
fered to  cast  more  than  a  passing  shadow  over  the  minds  of 
its  inmates.  Each  night  Evelyn  mourned  that  her  promise 
to  Mary  was  yet  unfulfilled,  each  morning  resolved  that  on 


CHARMS  AND  COTTXTER-CHARMS. 


that  day  she  would  see  her — a  resolution  ever  crowded  over 
to  the  morrow  by  the  numerous  engagements  already  made 
for  her  by  Mrs.  Mabury.  The  pleasant  ride  or  drive  or  visit 
gave  place  to  the  dinner-party,  which  was  succeeded  by  the 
evening  assemblage  at  home  or  abroad,  the  theatre  or  the 
concert.  Almost  a  child  in  years,  and  quite  a  child  in  the 
facility  with  which  she  yielded  herself  to  every  gentle  and 
kindly  influence,  and  in  her  unreflecting  confidingness  of  na- 
ture, is  it  wonderful  that  she  glided  on  from  day  to  day 
with  unquestioning  delight,  like  one  in  some  ecstatic  dream  ? 
She  seemed  to  have  just  awakened  to  life — a  life  in  which 
the  taste  and  the  intellect  were  excited  to  activity  as  well  as 
the  affections,  and  Mrs.  Mabury  was  regarded  as  the  good 
genius  whose  wand  had  unlocked  for  her  this  "  life's  en- 
chanted halls."  Everard  Irving  saw  her  every  day,  not  with 
the  formality  to  which  he  had  supposed  her  position  with 
Mrs.  Mabury  would  condemn  him,  but  with  the  friendly 
freedom  of  her  home.  To  his  bright  frank  spirit  she  turned 
ever  for  harmony  with  her  own  joyous  nature,  and  rarely 
turned  in  vain  >  for  even  when  Everard's  deeper  insight  into 
character  forbade  a  perfect  agreement  in  opinion,  he  could 
sympathize  with  the  loving  and  guileless  heart  from  which 
the  pleasing  error  sprang,  and  worlds  would  not  have  tempt- 
ed him  to  hasten  the  moment  when  she  should  attain  that 
fatal  knowledge  of  evil  which  would  make  the  world  no 
longer  an  Eden  to  her.  There  was  another  who  was  less 
considerate  of  her  present  enjoyment,  or  more  careful  to 
guard  her  from  dangerous  illusions. 

"  How  I  admire  Miss  Nesmith !"  said  Evelyn,  one  day, 
speaking  of  a  young  lady  who  had  just  taken  leave  of 
her ;  "  there  is  so  much  childlike  unstudied  grace  about 
her." 

The  remark  was  made  to  Everard  Irving,  but  it  was  Eus- 
ton  Hastings  whose  laugh  caused  a  mingled  feeling  of  morti- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  53 

fication  and  anger  to  glow  in  her  cheek  as  he  exclaimed, 
"  Unstudied !  her  mirror  would  tell  a  different  tale  if  it 
could  speak." 

"  How  did  you  like  our  preacher  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Mabury 
of  Evelyn,  on  their  return  from  church. 

"  I  was  charmed  with  him,"  she  replied  with  enthusiasm. 
"  His  countenance  is  so  heavenly — his  manner  so  simple  yet 
so  fervent." 

"  He  is  certainly  a  very  agreeable  man,"  interposed  Eus- 
ton  Hastings,  "  especially  at  a  convivial  party,  when  he  has 
wine  enough  and  not  too  much." 

Evelyn  had  often  heard  such  remarks  in  painful  silence, 
too  timid  to  combat  his  opinions,  too  distrustful  of  herself 
even  to  feel  assured  that  he  was  wrong,  yet  too  loving  and 
hopeful  wholly  to  credit  him.  On  this  day,  however,  the 
preacher's  earnestness  had  thrilled  her  heart,  and  the  sneer 
of  Euston  Hastings  made  strange  discord  with  its  heavenly 
tones.  Tears  rushed  to  her  eyes,  and  with  unwonted  cour- 
age, though  in  a  faltering  voice,  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Mr. 
Hastings !  if  every  thing  is  so  false  as  you  appear  to  think, 
do  not  tell  me  of  it.  I  would  rather  be  always  deceived — 
far  rather — than  live  in  so  sad  a  world  as  this  must  be  to 
one  who  thinks  as  you  do." 

For  a  moment  Euston  Hastings  was  touched  by  her  earn- 
est appeal,  and  he  replied  with  a  softened  manner,  "  Pardon 
me  for  having  given  you  pain.  I  will  never  again  disturb 
your  pleasing  illusions — yet"  he  continued  in  a  gayer  tone, 
"  permit  the  seer  to  utter  one  warning  word  before  his  lips 
are  sealed.  The  children  of  earth,  if  they  would  be  happy, 
should  be  contented  to  sport  among  the  flowers  on  its  sur- 
face, without  attempting  to  penetrate  beneath  them.  Like 
you,  I  admire  the  looks  and  manner  of  the  preacher  of  to- 
day :  they  charmed  my  eye  and  ear  as  a  fine  picture  or  good 
music  would  have  done,  and  with  this  I  am  satisfied.  I 


54          CHARMS  AND  COUNTER- CHARMS. 

will  not  destroy  the  flower  by  seeking  in  its  heart  the  source 
of  the  perfume  and  beauty  which  delight  me." 

Evelyn  had  listened  with  downcast  eyes,  and  it  was  more 
than  a  minute  after  he  had  ceased  speaking  that  she  said, 
hesitatingly,  "  I  think— I  fear — that  is—it  seems  to  me  that 
the  pleasure  you  describe  is  wholly  of  the  senses — there  is 
no  soul  in  it." 

"  Soul — what  is  that  ?"  asked  Euston  Hastings. 

Evelyn  looked  up  in  surprise,  and  caught  what  seemed  a 
warning  glance  from  Mrs.  Mabury  directed  to  Mr.  Hastings, 
He  apparently  perceived  it  too,  for  turning  away  from  Evelyn 
before  she  could  ask  an  explanation  of  his  singular  question, 
he  took  a  book  from  a  table  near  him,  and  seemed  too  much 
interested  in  its  pages  to  continue  the  conversation. 

Among  the  fashionable  novelties  of  that  day  was  Castle 
Garden.  Its  greatest  attraction  had  passed  away  with- the 
heat  of  summer,  and  though  Mrs.  Mabury  wished  at  least 
to  show  Evelyn  that  splendid  view  which  is  an  enjoyment 
no  season  can  take  from  it,  the  increasingly  cool  evenings 
seemed  to  render  the  propriety  of  doing  so  doubtful. 

"  We  shall  have  summer  days  yet,"  said  the  hopeful  Ev- 
elyn ;  and  she  was  right.  A  few  warm  days  came,  and  the 
proprietor  of  Castle  Garden  reaped  a  second  harvest  from 
the  citizens  who  had  been  absent  during  the  summer,  and 
the  southerners  who  were  passing  through  New  Y ork  on 
their  way  to  their  sunny  homes. 

"  Now  or  never  for  Castle  Garden,  Evelyn !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mabury,  as  she  saw  its  name  in  the  columns  of  a  news- 
paper. 

"  But  we  are  engaged  this  evening  to  Mrs.  Caldwell," 
said  Evelyn. 

"  We  shall  have  had  enough  of  the  Garden  by  nine 
o'clock,  and  that  will  give  us  all  the  time  we  want  for  her 
party." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  55 

At  half-past  seven  that  evening  Mrs.  Mabury  and  Evelyn, 
Euston  Hastings  and  Everard  Irving  drove  to  the  Battery, 
and  leaving  their  carriage  at  its  entrance,  proceeded  towards 
the  Garden.  They  had  not  walked  far,  when  music  came 
floating  over  the  waters  from  a  man-of-war  lying  about  half 
a  mile  off.  They  checked  their  steps  to  listen,  and  Mrs. 
Mabury  proposed  advancing  to  the  point  of  the  Battery 
nearest  the  ship.  They  had  not  stood  there  long,  when  the 
sweet  sounds  grew  softer  and  softer,  and  at  length  died 
away.  Still  they  seemed  to  listen,  for  all  remained  motion- 
less and  silent  under  the  influence  of  that  vague  sadness 
which  the  hour  and  its  accompaniments  were  calculated  to 
produce.  Mrs.  Mabury  was  the  first  to  speak : 

"How  brightly  the  stars  shine  this  evening !"  she  exclaimed. 

Euston  Hastings  looked  upward  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
in  those  low,  deep  tones  which  seemed  the  appropriate  utter- 
ance of  a  sad  spirit,  he  replied,  "  Yes — brightly  and  coldly 
— even  as  they  looked  down  upon  the  Chaldean  shepherds 
thousands  of  years  ago,  and  it  may  be  upon  others  thou- 
sands of  years  before  they  trod  this  little  planet,  and  fan- 
cied that  in  the  stars  they  could  read  their  destinies.  Their 
destinies !"  he  repeated,  in  an  accent  of  contempt ;  then 
added,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  Yet  I  wonder  not  that 
the  Destiny  which  the  Greeks  only  have  succeeded  in  de- 
picting, but  whose  irresistible,  inexorable  power  we  all  feel, 
should  have  found  its  type  in  yonder  orbs,  moving  '  without 
haste,  without  rest,'  through  their  fixed  and  changeless 
course.  The  folly  was  in  the  desire  to  read  that  which  was 
unalterable." 

"  More  strange  than  foolish,  it  seems  to  HK.  "  said  Mrs. 
Mabury;  "for  I  have  always  felt  that  were  that  page 
from  the  book  of  fate  on  which  my  life  is  written  presented 
to  me,  I  should  turn  away  my  eyes  from  it." 

"And  you  would  do  wisely,"  replied  Euston  Hastings. 


56  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  Why  throw  over  the  present  the  shadow  of  the  future  ? 
why  anticipate  the  knowledge  that  the  heart  we  trust  is  to 
be  estranged  from  our  own — that  the  hopes  which  give  to 
our  lives  their  brightness,  will  be  quenched  in  night  ?  We 
are  born — we  shall  die — this  is  enough  to  know,  and  of  the 
last  I  would  gladly  be  ignorant,  since  that,  like  the  rest,  is 
inevitable." 

Everard  Irving  felt  a  slight  shudder  pass  over  Evelyn's 
frame  as  she  leaned  against  him,  and  determining  for  her 
sake  not  to  leave  what  he  considered  such  false  philoso- 
phy unanswered,  he  spoke.  At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Eus- 
ton  Hastings  started, — he  had  forgotten  the  presence  of  any 
other  than  Mrs.  Mabury. 

"  Neither  do  I  desire  to  read  my  fate,"  said  Everard ; 
"  but  not  because  I  fear  to  find  my  friends  faithless  or  my 
hopes  illusive,  still  less  because  I  believe  that  the  events 
written  there  would  be  wholly  beyond  my  influence." 

"  Why  then  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Mabury. 

"  Because  I  do  not  desire  to  complicate  the  single  ques- 
tion submitted  to  my  decision — is  this  right  or  wrong  ? — 
the  results  of  my  actions  I  am  willing  to  leave  with  One 
wiser  than  I." 

.  There  was  no  answer,  and  it  was  too  dark  for  Everard 
to  see  the  smile  which  curled  the  lip  of  Euston  Hastings. 
Mrs.  Mabury  gave  the  signal,  and  they  turned  from  the 
dark  waters  to  the  brilliantly-lighted  garden  ;  but  the  shade 
which  had  fallen  on  the  spirits  of  the  party  passed  not  so 
quickly  away.  Everard  felt  that  Evelyn  moved  not  so 
buoy,.  I1v  as  she  was  wont  to  do,  and  as  he  turned  to  speak 
to  her,  a  10.,,  half-suppressed  sigh  met  his  ear. 

"  Why  do  you  sigh,  Evelyn  ?" 

"  Did  I  sigh  ? — it  was  unconsciously — but  I  cannot  shake 
off  the  impression  of  those  strangely  sad  words  of  Mr. 
Hastings." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  57 

"  I  hope  such  words  will  make  no  durable  impression  on 
your  mind,  dear  Evelyn ;  the  ruler  of  our  lives,  beloved,  is 
not  an  inexorable  Destiny,  but  a  tender  and  compassionate 
Father." 

"  I  know  you  are  right :  yet  his  mind  is  so  powerful,  his 
words  often  so  thrillingly  eloquent,  and  his  varying  tones 
so  singularly  musical — how  can  I  resist  his  influence  ?" 

"  You  greatly  admire  Mr.  Hastings,  Evelyn,"  said  Ev- 
erard,  with  a  sudden  pang  of  jealousy. 

"  Greatly  admire  Mr.  Hastings,"  she  repeated,  "  how  can 
I  help  admiring  him  ?" 

Everard's  very  heart  grew  eold  as  he  whispered,  "  Do 
you  love  him,  Evelyn  ?" 

Considering  their  relative  positions,  the  question,  it  may 
be  supposed,  must  have  excited  sorrow,  perhaps  anger. 
Everard  probably  expected  himself  to  read  some  such  emo- 
tion in  her  face,  as  she  paused  suddenly  and  turned  towards 
him,  but  he  saw  there  only  an  expression  of  overpowering 
surprise  as  she  repeated,  "  Love  him  ! — love  Mr.  Hastings  ! 
— I  should  as  soon  think  of  loving  one  of  those  bright  stars 
on  which  we  gazed  just  now  ;  he  seems  as  far  above  me, 
he  certainly  is  as  little  known  to  me,  as  they  are — how 
could  you  ask  such  a  question  ?" 

Nothing  in  this  reply  was  more  agreeable  to  Everard  than 
the  slight  accent  of  reproach  evident  at  its  conclusion,  and 
the  emphasis  on  the  word — you.  He  had  scarcely  time  to 
murmur,  "  Bless  you,  my  Evelyn,  for  those  words,"  when 
they  stood  beneath  the  brilliantly-lighted  gateway,  and  be- 
side Mrs.  Mabury  who  awaited  them  there. 

"Why,  Evelyn,  how  the  evening  air  has  made  your 
cheeks  glow,  and  how  brilliant  your  eyes  are,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mabury  as  she  looked  admiringly  on  her  young  friend. 

"  That  last  must  be  a  reflection  from  the  stars,"  said  Ev- 
elyn, with  a  laugh  not  altogether  free  from  embarrassment 


CHARMS  ANE  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


and  a  quick  glance  at  Everard  Irving,  whose  smile,  at  once 
joyous  and  tender,  brought  a  yet  more  vivid  flush  into  her 
cheeks. 

"  If  so,  I  hope  they  have  not  been  partial  in  their  re- 
flections," said  Mrs.  Mabury  as  she  led  the  way  to  the 
garden. 

At  that  very  hour  Mary  Raymond  sat  in  her  lonely  and 
darkened  chamber,  looking  up  at  those  bright  but  not,  to 
her,  cold  stars.  She  read  in  them  not  the  future  but  the 
past  of  life.  Even  thus  had  they  shone  upon  her  careless 
childhood  and  her  happy  youth  ;  and  words,  tones,  looks 
connected  with  those  joyous  seasons,  came  back  with  painful 
vividness  before  her.  Again  her  mother's  lips  were  pressed 
fondly  on  her  brow,  again  she  heard  her  father's  earnest 
"  Good-night,  my  child" — so  earnest  that  it  seemed  a  prayer 
rather  than  a  common  form — and  felt  his  hand  laid  as  if  in 
blessing  on  her  head.  Then  with  that  quick  transition 
which  only  thought  and  feeling  can  accomplish,  she  was 
struggling  with  the  flood  of  sorrow  which  swept  away  her 
home  and  its  affections,  leaving  .only  Everard  Irving  to 
stand  between  her  and  desolation.  For  one  instant  her 
heart  thrilled  again  beneath  the  soothing  tenderness,  the 
earnest  devotion  which  he  had  manifested  to  her  during 
that  season  of  calamity — the  next,  bitter  humiliation  swept 
over  her  spirit,  as  the  delusions,  the  unconscious  delusions, 
to  which  that  devotion  had  given  birth  passed  before  her, 
and  she  lived  over  again  that  moment  of  agony  in  which 
they  had  become  manifest  to  her  by  their  death-pang.  As 
she  turned  from  these  thronging  images  to  the  lonely  pres- 
ent, and  felt,  with  that  conviction  which  youth  ever  cher- 
ishes of  the  tenacity  of  its  impressions,  that  such  must  her 
life  be,  she  shrank  from  its  dead,  unvaried  blank,  and  with 
a  sickening  shudder  repeated  to  herself,  "  And  is  this  all  ? 
'  Existence  may  be  borne' — but  is  endurance  to  be  henco- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  59 

forth  the  highest  aim  of  my  being  ?  Was  I  so  tenderly 
cherished,  so  carefully  nurtured  for  this  ?" 

With  a  burst  of  passionate  sorrow,  Mary  wrung  her  hands 
and  looked  up  as  if  she  would  utter  the  complaint  to 
Heaven  which  she  dared  not  speak  to  earth.  The  same 
cloudless  sky,  with  the  changeless  stars  in  their  serene 
beauty,  met  her  eye.  Did  some  ray  from  them, 

"  Striking  th'  electric  chain  wherewith  we  are  darkly  bound," 

bring  rushing  to  her  memory  holy  lessons  which  in  her  pas- 
sionate absorption  had  been  forgotten — was  she  thus  re- 
minded that  life  was  not  given  only  for  herself,  or  for  earth  ? 
Whatever  was  the  cause,  such  thoughts  had  arisen  in  her 
mind,  and  her  upward,  impassioned  glance  was  followed  by 
almost  instant  prostration  on  her  knees  beside  her  couch. 
There  long  she  knelt,  with  her  head  bowed  low  and  her 
face  hidden  in  her  clasped  hands,  in  perfect  stillness  but 
for  the  sobs  that  sometimes  shook  her  frame.  Who  shall 
penetrate  into  the  spirit's  mysterious  intercourse  with  Him, 
who,  inhabiting  eternity,  yet  dwelleth  with  the  humble  and 
contrite  heart  ?  Reverently  and  humbly  to  illustrate  this 
precious  truth,  to  show  that  in  His  presence  earth's  discords 
are  harmonized,  and  peace  and  strength  arise  where -all  was 
disorder  and  weakness,  may  be  permitted — but  there  let  us 
pause,  lest  we  be  as  the  fools  who  "  rush  in  where  angels 
dare  not  tread." 

When  Mary  Raymond  arose  from  her  knees,  her  proud 
and  passionate  thoughts  were  stilled ;  there  was  a  subdued, 
chastened  expression  on  her  pale  face;  and  though  she 
wept  long  after  her  head  was  on  her  pillow,  it  was  as  an 
erring,  repentant,  and  forgiven  child  weeps  in  tenderness 
rather  than  in  sorrow  on  its  father's  bosom. 

Though  Evelyn,  too  timid  to  question,  too  gentle  to  re- 
sist the  influences  surrounding  her,  had  wished  "in  vain  for 


60  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

an  opportunity  to  visit  Mary,  she  had  sent  to  her,  through 
her  father,  daily  messages  of  love,  and  tokens  that  her 
heart  was  often  with  her  in  the  midst  of  her  gayeties. 

"  I  wish  Mary  had  these  beautiful  flowers,"  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  proceeded  to  Mrs.  Caldwell's  brilliant  supper-room 
with  a  splendid  bouquet  that  had  just  been  presented  to  her. 

"  Give  them  to  me  when  you  are  going  and  she  shall  have 
them  to-morrow  morning  before  she  breakfasts,"  said  Ev- 
erard  Irving;  and  he  accomplished  his  promise,  though  he 
left  Mrs.  Caldwell's  at  a  very  late  hour  and  Mr.  Beresford 
breakfasted  at  a  very  early  one.  This  was  not  the  first 
visit  by  many  which  he  had  made  to  Mary  since  Evelyn's 
departure ;  but  these  visits  were  constrained  and  hurried, 
and  marked,  perhaps,  more  decidedly  than  his  absence 
would  have  done,  the  gradual  alienation  of  feeling  which 
his  attachment  to  another  could  scarcely  fail  to  occasion. 
He  came  from  scenes  of  mirth,  with  his  heart  yet  bounding 
to  the  careless  song  and  the  gay  laugh,  and  though  the 
chastened  stillness  of  Mary's  manner  checked  his  buoyancy, 
and  he  strove  to  subdue  himself  into  something  like  harmony 
with  it,  it  was  an  effort  seen  and  felt,  and  therefore  painful 
alike  to  both. 

This- morning,  however,  Mary,  under  the  influence  of  the 
last  evening's  struggle  with  herself,  had  appeared  for  the 
first  time  since  her  illness  at  Mr.  Beresford's  breakfast-table, 
and  was  conversing  cheerfully  with  him  when  she  saw  Ev- 
erard  ascend  the  steps  of  the  piazza.  The  smile  died  on 
her  lip,  but  before  he  reached  the  door  of  the  parlor  she 
had  conquered  the  sudden  pang,  and  she  greeted  him  with 
an  expression  of  pleasure  which  he  had  not  seen  on  her 
face  for  long. 

"  Have  you  become  a  Swedenborgian,  Mr.  Irving  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Beresford,  with  a  smile  twinkling  in  his  eyes. 

"  No,  sir*,"  said  Everard,  with  seme  surprise. 


CHARMS  AND   COUNTER-CHARMS.  61 

"  A  clairvoyant,  then,  as  the  French  magnetizers  call  their 
subjects  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  and  Everard  smilod  in  sympathy  with  the 
smile  which  he  still  did  not  understand. 

"  Then  it  was  by  some  less  spiritual  means  you  discovered 
that  Mary  would  breakfast  with  me  this  morning." 

Everard  laughed  and  Mary  tried  to  laugh  as  he  replied, 
"  No — no — that  I  assure  you  was  an  unexpected  enjoyment, 
but  I  was  clairvoyant  enough  to  know  that  I  should  give 
her  pleasure  by  coming." 

"  No  assurance  in  that  now !  In  my  day  a  gentleman 
would  have  humbly  hoped  that  a  lady  would  permit  him 
the  pleasure  of  visiting  her." 

"Not  if  the  lady  were  one  whom  he  had  quarrelled  with 
and  kissed  into  good-humor  again  twenty  times  a  day  when 
they  were  no  higher  than  this  table  ;  but  I  did  not  mean 
to  be  quite  so  presuming  as  you  supposed,  it  was  not  I  but 
my  flowers  that  I  was  so  certain  would  give  her  pleasure," 
and  Everard  uncovered  the  bouquet  which  he  had  enveloped 
carefully  with  paper. 

Mary  was  not  sorry,  perhaps,  to  have  something  just  then 
to  occupy  her  attention. 

"  This  is  beautiful  indeed,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Roses  too, 
while  all  around  us  looks  so  cold  and  wintry — they  breathe 
of  home  and  look  like  it  too — do  they  not,  Everard "?"  she 
asked  with  animation. 

"  A  saucy  insinuation  that,"  said  Mr.  Beresford ;  "  as  if 
roses  never  bloomed  north  of  Baltimore." 

"  Oh,  I  know  they  do,  sir — in  hothouses,"  said  Mary, 
smilingly ;  "  but  come  they  from  north  or  come  they  from 
south,  they  are  very  welcome,  and  I  am  very  thankful,  and 
Everard  shall  have  a  cup  of  coffee  as  a  reward." 

"  You  owe  me  no  thanks,  except  for  bringing  them — Ev- 
elyn sent  them  to  you." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


"  Did  she  ?*  said  Mary,  as  she  laid  the  flowers  aside,  and 
busied  herself  with  Everard's  coffee. 

"  The  gipsy !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Beresford,  taking  up  the 
bouquet,  "  where  did  she  get  such  beautiful  flowers — ha* 
she  been  robbing  Mrs.  Mabury's  conservatory  ?" 

"  Oh  no  !  the  bouquet  was  brought  to  Mrs.  Caldwell's 
yesterday  evening  by  one  of  her  devoted  admirers — a  young 
exquisite  whom  Evelyn  almost  pets  as  a  pretty  boy,  never 
dreaming  that  he  is  intending  her  the  honor  of  becoming  his 
wife.  I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  she  made  him  a 
present  of  a  handsome  top  or  ball,  in  return  for  his  flowers." 

Mr.  Beresford  laughed  at  the  idea;  but  as  he  rose  to 
leave  the  room,  he  said  quietly,  "  Just  the  right  sort  of  ad- 
mirer for  Evelyn  for  some  time  to  come." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Beresford,"  said  Everard,  with  a  smi- 
ling bow  towards  the  door  at  which  that  gentleman  had  just 
disappeared  ;  "  but  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  do  not  think 
Evelyn  quite  of  your  opinion." 

"  You  were  rather  apprehensive  at  one  time  that  her 
taste  lay  in  the  opposite  extreme." 

"That  she  would  admire  Mr.  Hastings,  you  mean.  It 
was  a  groundless  apprehension,  I  believe.  Admire  him  she 
certainly  must,  but  their  natures  are  too  much  opposed  to 
make  the  admiration  dangerous." 

"  Have  you  learned  to  admire  him  too  ?"  asked  Mary, 
not  unwilling  to  turn  the  conversation  from  Evelyn. 

"It  is  impossible  not  to  do  so.  By-the-by,  Mary,  I 
think  him  just  the  man  to  captivate  you ;  and  were  I  quite 
sure  of  his  principles,  I  should  above  all  things  desire  to 
have  you  meet." 

"  Indeed  !  what  qualities  in  him  do  you  consider  so  much 
to  my  taste  ?" 

"  Not  any  particular  quality,  but  his  general  style  of 
character  harmonizes,  I  think,  in  many  respects  with  yours," 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.      '  63 

"  In  what  respects  ?"  persisted  Mary,  far  from  being  well 
pleased  with  the  assertion ;  for  having  never  seen  Euston 
Hastings,  her  only  idea  of  him  was  derived  from  Everard'a 
former  description,  which  certainly  had  not  been  very  pre- 


"  Why,  Mary,  you  would  make  a  capital  cross-questioner 
— I  must  not  talk  at  random  I  see  with  you.  But  to  answer 
your  question,  I  think  there  is  a  consciousness  of  power,  a 
self-dependence,  a  decision  and  intrepidity  of  nature  about 
Euston  Hastings,  which  would  be  necessary  in  any  man  who 
should  hope  to  win  your  heart." 

Everard  paused,  and  Mary,  who  was  listening  intently, 
said,  "But  that  was  not  all — you  said  our  natures  harmo- 
nized— you  must  have  meant  something  more  than  this." 

"  It  was  a  thoughtless  expression  which  I  can  scarcely 
make  good ;  but  I  believe  it  was  caused  by  an  impression 
which  you  both  give  me  of  reserve.  I  feel,  in  looking  at 
Euston  Hastings,  that  I  know  as  little  of  him — though  I 
meet  him  every  day  and  see  him  exhibit  many  varying 
moods — as  I  do  of  the  depths  of  ocean,  from  looking  at  its 
now  calm  and  now  tempestuous  surface." 

"  You  think  him  a  dissembler,"  said  Mary,  in  a  low,  quiet 
tone. 

"  I  fear  he  is,"  Everard  replied.  , 

"  And  you  think  thus  of  me  !" 

The  words  were  common-place,  but  the  tone — what  a 
world  of  reproachful  sorrow  may  a  tone  express ! 

"  Mary !  how  can  you  do  such  injustice  to  my  love  even 
in  your  thoughts !  When  you  can  forgive  yourself  for  it,  I 
will  forgive  you." 

"  Nay — nay — Everard,  wait  not  for  that !"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Pardon  me  !  the  thought  brought  its  own  punishment." 

The  tears  that  rushed  to  her  eyes  pleaded  more  power- 
fully than  her  words,  and  Everard,  as  quickly  excited  to  ten- 


64  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

derness  as  to  anger,  raised  the  hand  she  had  extended  to  his 
lips,  and  continued  to  clasp  it  as  he  said,  smilingly,  "  I  hops 
it  gave  you  a  sharp  twinge,  for  you  deserved  it." 

"  So  sharp  that  I  must  know  what  you  did  mean,  lest  it 
should  come  back  again.  You  say  of  Mr.  Hastings  and  me 
that  our  natures  harmonize,  because  he  is  a — " 

"  Beware !"  interposed  Everard,  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  smi- 
lingly on  Mary.  "  You  will  feel  the  twinge  again." 

"  Then  tell  me — what  did  you  say  ?" 

"  That  you  both  seem  to  me  reserved,  but  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent way.  Euston  Hastings  envelops  himself  in  clouds 
which  assume  a  thousand  varying  shapes,  and  keep  the  busy 
crowd  wondering  which  is  the  real  man,  who,  in  truth,  is 
not  seen  by  them  at  all,  and  you — "  Everard  paused,  and 
Mary  looked  eagerly  into  his  face,  "  and  you  always  remind 
me  of  a  veiled  picture ;  the  veil  is  slight,  but  one  who  has 
looked  as  closely  as  I  have  on  your  heart,  knows  that 
thoughts,  emotions,  richer,  deeper,  more  influential  on  your 
life  than  all  that  are  seen,  lie  hidden  beneath  it.  One  day, 
when  I  have  Avon  your  confidence  more  fully  than  now,  you 
will  raise  that  veil  for  your  brother — will  you  not,  Mary  ?" 

The  hand  which  Everard  clasped  trembled  in  his,  and 
Mary's  dark  lashes  rested  on  a  cheek  in  which  the  color 
came  and  went  almost  with  every  breath.  It  was  seldom 
her  feelings  were  so  fully  mirrored  in  her  face,  and  as  Ev- 
erard gazed  on  her,  he  more  than  once  repeated  to  himself, 
"  How  exquisitely  lovely  she  is  !" 

The  entrance  of  a  servant  to  remove  the  breakfast-tray 
broke  the  silence  which  was  becoming  awkward,  and  Ev- 
erard soon  after  took  his  leave. 

Mary  sat  long  where  Everard  had  left  her.  Her  eyes 
were  downcast,  a  smile  was  on  her  lip,  the  color  of  the  rose 
upon  her  cheek.  She  looked  like  one  in  a  happy  dream, 
and  still  she  felt  that  clasping  hand,  still  heard  those  gentle 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  65 

tones  and  those  words  of  soothing,  flattering  tenderness. 
The  mantel  clock  chimes  the  half-hour — its  striking  ten  sent 
Everard  away — can  it  be  that  half  an  hour  has  passed  since 
then  ?  A  brighter  color  rises  to  her  cheek  ;  but  why  should 
it,  since  she  whispers  to  herself,  "  How  sweet  it  is  to  think 
of  such  a  brother  /" 

The  dream  has  been  broken,  and  she  rises  to  leave  the 
room,  still  carrying  with  her  its  happy  impression ;  but  in 
passing  the  table  her  eye  rests  on  Evelyn's  neglected  flowers : 
the  smile  leaves  her  lip,  the  light  fades  from  her  eye,  and 
taking  the  flowers  from  the  table,  she  proceeds  with  slow 
and  languid  steps  to  her  own  apartment.  Her  door  is  closed, 
and  all  around  is  silent.  Is  she  again  seeking  direction  and 
strength  from  the  Source  of  all  wisdom  and  power  ?  If  so, 
those  would  think  she  had  not  sought  in  vain  who  had  seen 
the  resolved  and  even  lofty  expression  of  her  countenance, 
as,  about  an  hour  after,  she  left  her  own  room  and  went 
towards  that  called  Mr.  Beresford's  study,  in  which  he 
usually  spent  his  morning  hours. 

"  This  is  kind,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Beresford,  as,  opening 
his  door  at  her  gentle  summons,  he  perceived  who  was  his 
visiter.  "  I  shall  not  miss  Evelyn  so  much  now  that  you 
can  leave  your  room  and  be  with  me.  With  two  daughters, 
I  can  afford  to  let  one  of  them  visit  occasionally." 

This  kindness  from  one  whom  her  father  had  loved,  and 
to  whom  he  had  confided  her,  was  deeply  gratifying  to  Mary, 
yet  it  made  more  embarrassing  the  request  she  had  come  to 
prefer,  which  was  no  less  than  that  Mr.  Beresford  would 
permit  her  to  spend  the  winter  in  Baltimore,  with  a  lady 
who  had  been  a  kind  and  dear  friend  to  her  mother. 

"  Spend  the  winter ! — the  whole  winter,  my  dear  !"  Mr. 
Beresford  repeated  with  surprise. 

"  Dr.  Huntly  advises  a  change  for  me,  sir,  and  I  think  he 
will  scarcely  advocate  my  returning  to  a  northern  climate 
6* 


66  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

after  the  winter,  which  is  so  rapidly  approaching,  has  set 
in." 

"  Perhaps  not, — but  I  hate  to  lose  you  for  so  long  a 
time." 

"  Thank  you,  sir — you  are  very  kind,  and  I  shall  return 
to  you  in  the  spring,  I  hope,  better  able  to  show  my  appre- 
ciation of  your  kindness — that  is,  if  you  permit  me  to  go," 
she  added,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Oh,  certainly — I  have  neither  the  right  nor  the  wish  to 
prevent  it,  and  I  will  accompany  you  myself,  whenever  you 
desire." 

"  Nay,  sir,  I  hoped  not  to  give  you  that  trouble." 

"  Do  not  call  it  trouble — I  shall  like  the  excursion.  But 
when  did  you  think  of  going  ?" 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,  sir,  if  it  will  suit  you." 

"  So  early — are  you  expected  ?" 

"  Not  yet — but  I  can  write  by  to-morrow's  mail.  I  am 
assured  I  shall  be  welcome." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,  very  well — arrange  it  all  as  you  like. 
What  does  Mr.  Irving  say  to  your  going  ?" 

"  He  does  not  know  it,  sir,"  said  Mary,  coloring  and  look- 
ing down,  "  and  I  was  about  to  ask  that  you  would  say 
nothing  about  it,  either  to  him  or  to  Evelyn ;  they  would 
doubtless  endeavor  to  dissuade  me,  and  while  I  could  not 
relinquish  my  wish,  I  am  too  feeble  to  combat  their  argu- 
ments." 

"  Just  as  you  please,  my  dear,  about  that,  but — "  and 
Mr.  Beresford  hesitated  with  the  consciousness  that  he  was 
approaching  a  painful  subject,  "  are  you  quite  right  to  go 
there — to  Baltimore  ?  will  it  not  try  your  strength  too  far  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no !"  exclaimed  Mary,  bursting  into  tears ; 
"  there  I  shall  gather  strength  for  all  other  trials." 

Mr.  Beresford's  eyes  glistened  as  he  drew  her  to  him, 
and  gently  and  tenderly  soothed  her  sorrow. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  67 

Two  days  after,  notes  from  Mary  and  Mr.  Beresford  an- 
nounced to  Evelyn  and  Everard  their  departure  for  Balti- 
more. It  cost  Evelyn  some  tears,  for  she  loved  Mary 
tenderly ;  and  now  that  she  was  beyond  her  reach,  her 
heart  suggested  a  thousand  ways — most  of  them,  in  truth, 
impracticable — in  which  she  might  have  evinced  that  love ; 
but  her  tears  were  soon  dried  in  the  atmosphere  surround- 
ing her.  If  Everard  thought  longer  of  Mary,  it  was  with- 
out pain.  He  knew  the  friend  to  whom  she  had  gone  to  be 
both  tender  and  judicious,  and  thought  that  Mary  could 
not  have  chosen  a  better  companion  for  her  season  of  sor- 
row. 

Mary's  agitation  as  she  approached  the  scenes  with  which 
she  had  been  familiar  in  happier  years,  confirmed  Mr.  Ber- 
esford's  apprehension  of  the  impropriety  of  her  return  to 
them ;  and  when  he  saw  her,  on  their  arrival  at  the  house 
of  her  friend  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  throw  herself  into  the  arms 
of  that  lady  in  a  passion  of  tears,  he  said,  in  a  sort  of 
apologetic  tone,  "  I  fear  I  have  done  wrong  in  yielding  to 
Mary's  wishes;  but  she  has  suffered  so  much,  that  I  could 
not  refuse  what  she  seemed  to  desire  so  earnestly." 

"  Do  not  be  uneasy,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  smiling 
through  her  tears ;  "  Mary's  tears  are  not  all  sorrowful,  and 
rest  will  do  much  to  restore  her  composure.  I  am  rejoiced 
that  you  consented  to  her  coming." 

Notwithstanding  these  assurances,  and  though  Mary, 
when  he  called  on  her  the  next  morning,  received  him 
with  more  cheerfulness  than  he  had  yet  seen  in  her,  Mr. 
Beresford  could  not  wholly  overcome  his  apprehensions ; 
and  even  at  the  last  hour  of  his  stay  in  Baltimore,  he  urged 
her  to  return  with  him,  and  exacted  from  her  a  promise 
that  she  would  write  to  him,  if  at  any  time  during  the 
winter  she  desired  to  "  come  home,"  as  he  kindly  denomi- 
nated her  return  to  his  house.  These  impressions  had  been 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


perhaps  strengthened,  by  finding  that  the  friend  to  whom 
Mary  had  volunteered  so  long  a  visit  was  an  elderly  widow, 
without  children,  who  seemed  to  enter  little  into  society, 
and  whose  manners,  though  sarenely  cheerful,  never  ap- 
proached to  gayety. 

"The  poor  child,"  he  said  to  himself,  "should  have 
something  to  amuse  her,  and  divert  her  mind.  If  she 
would  go  back  with  me,  I  would  remove  into  the  city  and 
bring  cheerful  society  around  her  at  home,  since  her  mourn- 
ing prtrvents  her  seeking  entertainment  abroad.  I  will  speak 
of  it  to  her  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Beresford  did  speak  of  it,  and  Mary  thanked  him 
with  warm  and  true  feeling  for  his  kindness,  but  assured 
him  she  would  be  happier  for  the  present  where  she  was. 

"  I  know,"  she  added  with  a  smile,  "that  you  are  sur- 
prised I  should  have  come  to  recover  my  cheerfulness  to 
this  retired  house,  and  to  so  serious  a  person  as  Mrs.  Mac- 
laurin, — but  you  do  not  know  her.  She  has  had  great 
trials,  and  they  may  have  subdued  her  vivacity ;  but  I  have 
heard  my  mother  say  that  she  possessed  a  rare  elevation  of 
character,  and  the  most  uniform  cheerfulness  she  had  ever 
seen  in  any  one." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  an  excellent  woman,  my  dear, 
and  I  am  very  sure  that  to  me  she  would  be  a  more  interest- 
ing and  pleasing  companion  than  younger  and  gayer  people  ; 
but  you  are  young,  and  I  hope  will  soon  be  gay  again." 

Mary  thought  "  It  is  sorrow  and  loneliness  of  spirit,  not 
years,  that  make  us  old ;"  but  she  answered  Mr.  Beresford 
with  a  smile,  "  I  hope  to  come  back  to  you,  sir,  as  cheerful 
as  Mrs.  Maclaurin, — and  that  will  be  better,  I  think,  than 
coming  back  gay." 

"That  is  a  strange  reflection,"  thought  Mr.  Beresford, 
"for  one  so  young." 

Acquainted   with   Mr.  Beresford's   studious   habits   and 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


disinclination  to  business,  Mr.  Raymond,  in  confiding  his 
daughter  to  his  sole  care,  had  associated  another  gentleman 
with  him  in  the  management  of  her  property.  This  gen- 
tleman resided  in  Baltimore,  where  the  Raymond  estate 
principally  lay ;  and  he  now  gladly  availed  himself  of  Mr. 
Beresford's  visit,  to  communicate  with  him  relative  to  some 
financial  arrangements  which  could  not  be  completed  with- 
out his  sanction.  Mr.  Beresford's  absence  from  New  York 
was  thus  prolonged  to  more  than  a  fortnight.  It  seemed 
to  him  an  age  since  he  had  held  Evelyn  to  his  heart,  and 
he  hastened  to  Mrs.  Mabury's  immediately  on  his  arrival. 
It  was  almost  midday,  yet  the  servant  seemed  strangely 
indisposed  to  admit  him ;  and  when  he,  almost  angrily,  in- 
sisted on  seehig  his  daughter,  he  led  him  to  the  door  of  the 
parlor  in  which  she  was,  and  left  him  to  announce  himself. 
Supposing  Evelyn  alone,  Mr.  Beresford  entered  without 
hesitation,  but  had  scarcely  advanced  a  step  within  the 
room  when  he  stood  confounded  at  the  singular  scene  that 
presented  itself.  Fifteen  or  twenty  persons  were  collected 
in  the  room,  each  of  whom  seemed  desirous  to  outvie  the 
others  in  the  singularity  of  his  costume.  Kings  and  peas- 
ants, knights  and  priests,  muses,  graces,  and  lady  abbesses, 
were  mingled  together  in  the  most  motley  confusion.  Mr. 
Beresford's  attention  was,  however,  almost  immediately  riv- 
eted to  a  slightly-elevated  platform  at  the  farther  extremity 
of  the  apartment,  on  which  stood  Mrs.  Mabury  and  Evelyn, 
in  dresses  which,  though  belonging  to  another  age  and 
country,  were  as  well  adapted  to  display  the  peculiar 
charms  of  each  as  if  they  had  been  designed  for  that 
especial  purpose.  Both  wore  long  white  veils ;  but  Eve- 
lyn's was  drawn  back  from  her  face,  and  held  gracefully 
aside  with  one  upraised  hand,  while  a  crimson  blush  had 
risen  to  her  very  temples,  and  her  eyes  were  lowered  be- 
neath Mrs.  Mabury's  earnest  gaze.  Mrs.  Mabury's  coun- 


70  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHAHMS. 

tenance,  shaded,  not  concealed  by  her  veil,  expressed  admi- 
ration mingled  with  hopeless  sadness. 

The  bewildered  Mr.  Beresford  turned  his  eyes  from  this 
exquisite  picture,  whose  beauty  his  astonishment  scarce  per- 
mitted him  to  observe,  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  hoping 
to  find  there  some  key  to  the  enigma.  The  familiar  faces 
which  met  his  view  in  most  of  those  he  looked  on,  made  the 
motley  garbs  in  which  they  were  arrayed  seem  but  the 
more  ridiculous.  None  seemed  to  observe  his  presence — 
all  eyes,  .all  thoughts  were  apparently  directed  to  Mrs. 
Mabury  and  Evelyn,  and  again  Mr.  Beresford  looked  to- 
wards them.  They  still  preserved  unmoved  the  graceful 
position  in  which  he  had  first  seen  them,  but  a  smile  was 
playing  around  Evelyn's  lips.  The  next  moment,  dropping 
her  veil,  she  exclaimed  in  an  apologetic  tone,  "  Oh,  Madame 
L'Egare,  my  arm — "  is  so  weary,  she  would  have  added, 
but  her  eyes  rested  on  her  father,  and  with  a  joyful  cry  she 
bounded  into  his  arms,  heedless  of  the  many  voices  that 
bade  her  take  care  of  her  veil,  and  quite  unmindful  of  the 
stately  movement  which  Cedric  the  Saxon  would  have 
judged  becoming  in  the  representative  of  Lady  Rowena — 
the  lineal  descendant  of  Alfred  the  Great. 

In  the  succeeding  chapter  we  will  give  the  reader  a 
somewhat  more  detailed  explanation  of  the  sctne  just 
described,  than  Mr.  Beresford  obtained. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  71 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  flower,  its  leaves  aud  odors  cast 

On  a  swift  rolling  wave ; 
Th'  unheeding  torrent  darkly  passed, 

And  back  no  treasure  gave. 

REMANS. 

"  How  do  you  live  here  ?  Have  you  some  amusements 
— theatre — opera — ballet  ?"~  asked  Madame  L'Egare  of  her 
friend  Mrs.  Mabury. 

These  ladies  had  been  intimately  acquainted  in  Paris,  and 
when  the  failure  of  a  political  intrigue,  in  which  he  had 
been  engaged,  drove  Monsieur  L'Egare  to  America,  the 
horror  with  which  Madame  anticipated  her  residence  there, 
was  somewhat  lessened  by  the  knowledge  that  she  should 
meet  at  least  one  civilized  being.  To  Mrs.  Mabury  her 
arrival  had  given  real  pleasure. 

"  Now,"  she  exclaimed  to  Euston  Hastings,  on  reading 
the  note  which  announced  it,  "now,  I  may  hope  to  give  a 
new  tone  to  this  monotonous  society.  With  Madame  L'E- 
gare's  assistance  I  have  some  chance  of  being  abla  to 
introduce  some  graceful  variety  into  those  stiff  assemblages 
of  people  which  have  almost  driven  me  to  despair." 

"Theatres  we  have,"  Mrs.  Mabury  replied  to  her  friend's 
question,  "  but  no  opera — no  ballet.  Do  not  despair,"  she 
continued,  as  she  saw  the  pretty  Frenchwoman  shrug  her 
shoulders  and  turn  up  her  eyes  with  an  expression  of  the 
deepest  mortification, — "  do  not  despair,  we  may  have  all 
we  want,  even  the  ballet,  I  dcubt  not,  in  time;  but  the 
people  here  do  not  know  how  to  amuse  themselves.  They 


72  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

have  no  taste,  no  fancy,  and  I  must  have  your  aid  in  intro- 
ducing a  little  variety  amongst  them.  I  could  do  little  by 
myself; — one,  you  know,  cannot  long  keep  a  ball  in  the 
air." 

"  And  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"Just  make  all  the  amusement  you  can  out  of  the  mate- 
rial around  you." 

"  But  have  you  people,  not  canaille — I  know  you  have 
not  nobility, — but  gentlemen — ladies — young,  gay  people  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes — in  abundance." 

"  Then  for  what  they  have  not  amusements  ?  Bring 
them  together — let  them  sing,  dance,  act  charades,  make 
tableaux  vivans." 

"Capital!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mabury ;  "get  in  my  car- 
riage and  drive  home  with  me.  You  shall  see  my  rooms, 
and  we  will  arrange  some  tableaux  at  once.  They  know 
nothing  of  them  here,  and  I  do  not  doubt  they  will  take 
prodigiously." 

Madame  L'Egare  complied,  and  in  a  few  days  the  affair 
was  arranged.  The  various  characters  had  been  fitted  with 
appropriate  costumes,  and  had  more  than  once  assumed 
their  positions  before  a  select  few,  in  preparation  for  the 
grand  exhibition  for  which  cards  had  been  issued. 

Evelyn  appeared  in  more  than  one  of  these  tableaux. 
She  was  the  Miranda  to  Everard  Irving's  Ferdinand,  the 
Juliet  to  his  Romeo,  and  she  unconsciously  gave  no  slight 
gratification  to  Everard  and  amusement  to  others  by  her 
unwillingness  to  accept  any  character  in  which  another  than 
he  would  appear  as  her  lover.  One  tableau  represented 
the  unequalled  scene  between  Rebecca,  personated  by  Mrs, 
Mabury,  and  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  who  found  in  Euston 
Hastings  a  representative  pronounced  faultless  by  all,  not- 
withstanding his  want  of  height.  Mrs.  Mabury's  Rebecca 
was  so  exquisitely  beautiful,  as  well  as  so  correct  in  coun- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  73 

tenance  and  costume,  that  there  was  a  general  demand  for 
some  other  scene  from  the  same  work  in  which  she  might 
again  be  introduced.  The  visit  to  Rowena  and  the  moment 
in  which  her  fortunate  rival  lays  aside,  at  her  request,  the 
bridal  veil,  was  suggested,  and  "  Miss  Beresford  should  be 
the  fair-haired  Rowena,"  exclaimed  many  voices  at  once. 

Mrs.  Mabury  was  charmed  with  the  suggestion,  and  the 
next  day  this  scene  was  exhibited. 

"  What  a  splendid  contrast !"  and  "  Which  is  the  most 
beautiful  ?"  were  audible  murmurs. 

"  Beautiful !"  exclaimed  Madame  L'Egare.  "  Beautiful ! 
J3ut  we  have  our  Rebecca  twice — is  there  not  some  other 
Koene  for  our  Rowena  ?  Ha !  is  there  not  one  other  for 
her  ?"  she  repeated  to  Everard  Irving  who  stood  near  her. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  there  is  the  tournament  in  which  she  is  chosen 
queen  of  the  day,  and  when  she  is  about  to  crown  the  vic- 
tor, discovers  in  the  almost  mortally-wounded  knight  who 
kneeLs  before  her,  her  early  and  long-absent  lover,  Ivanhoe." 

"  Excellent !  excellent !  we  will  have  that  scene.  Stay — 
stay  Rowena !"  she  continued,  motioning  to  Evelyn  to  re- 
main where  she  was. 

"  And  now  who  shall  be  Ivanhoe  ?" 

Madame  L'Egare  looked  up  in  the  face  of  Everard  as  she 
asked  the  question,  but  quickly  shaking  her  head,  added, 
"  You  will  not  do,  for  he  had  been  wandering  many  years, 
I  remember,  in  far  countries,  and  you  are  too  fair  and  too 
young  for  such  a  pilgrimage." 

"  But  Ivanhoe  was  a  Saxon,"  pleaded  Everard. 

"  Ah !  but  the  sun  and  the  sea  had  made  him  brown, 
and  he  was  sorrowful  and  had  much  care.  Oh,  no  !  you 
will  not  do."  She  glanced  hastily  around.  "Ah,  Mr. 
Hastings!  he  is  the  very  man.  Come,  Mr.  Hastings,  you 
know  all  about  it,  I  dare  say, — you  shall  be  Ivanhoe." 

Nothing  loth,  Euston  Hastings  advanced,  saying,  with  a 
7 


74  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

smile,  "  I  am  at  your  service — Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  Ivan- 
hoe,  any  thing  you  please — but  would  you  not  like  some 
scene  in  which  they  both  appear  ?  Picture-galleries  always 
have  their  cicerone,  and  ours  might  do  for  me  as  the  Dutch- 
man did  for  his  pictures,  and  tell  the  spectators — this  is  th<> 
famous  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  and  now — this  is  Ivanhoe." 

"  Oh,  no !"  exclaimed  the  laughing  Madame  L'Egare, 
"  we  will  have  no  such  scene,  you  must  be  content  with  one 
character  at  one  time ;  but  we  will  have  this  scene  with 
Rowena." 

"  But  you  will  want  armor,"  suggested  some  one. 

"  Armor !"  exclaimed  the  ready  Frenchwoman,  "  oh  !  that 
is  nothing  at  all.  I  will  contrive  for  that.  I  will  paint 
some  paper  armor,  and  the  helmet — oh !  it  is  the  easiest 
thing  in  all  the  world  ;  but  now  you  must  kneel — did  you 
not  say  Ivanhoe  was  kneeling,  Mr.  Irving  ? — and  Miss 
Beresford  you  must  stand  there,  just  where  you  are,  with  a 
wreath,  a  laurel- wreath  I  suppose,  in  your  hand,  just  going 
to  put  it  on  his  head — and  Mr.  Hastings  you  must  look  very 
tender  and  passionate."  , 

"  Impassioned,"  interposed  some  one. 

"  Ah,  yes  ! — passionn£ — just  like  a  lover." 

Evelyn  was  shrinking  away,  but  Madame  L'Egare"  caught 
her  hand  and  drawing  her  to  the  right  position,  said,  "  That 
is  your  place,  Miss  Beresford — do  not  be  frightened — Mr. 
Hastings  is  not  your  lover  in  earnest  no  more  than  Mr.  Ir- 
ving was  just  now." 

Evelyn  colored  a  deeper  crimson  at  this,  yet  she  stood 
where  she  had  been  placed,  with  her  eyes  fastened  upon 
the  ground. 

"There,  Mr.  Hastings,  that  is  quite  right,"  exclaimed 
Madame  L'Egare,  as  walking  to  a  distance  she  took  a  view 
of  the  parties ;  "  but,  Miss  Beresford,  you  must  look  at  him, 
or  how  will  you  know  he  is  your  lover  ?" 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


"  Look  on  me  and  know  me  for  your  lover,"  was  whis- 
pered in  tones  so  soft  that  none  but  Evelyn  heard  them. 

Ashamed  of  her  increasing  and  as  it  seemed,  even  to  her- 
self, unreasonable  agitation,  with  a  determined  effort  she 
raised  her  drooping  lids  and  cast  her  eyes  on  the  kneeling 
form  and  uplifted  face  of  Euston  Hastings.  Not  Ivanhoe 
himself  could  have  fastened  on  his  long-unseen  Rowena  a 
glance  of  more  thrilling  tenderness  than  that  she  met.  Her 
eyes  sank  lower  than  ever,  and,  unheeding  the  remonstrances 
of  Madame  L'Egare,  she  retreated  abashed  and  trembling  to 
the  side  of  Mrs.  Mabury. 

"  Get  me  off,"  she  whispered  to  that  lady,  as  many  voices 
joined  in  urging  her  to  resume  her  place.  "  Get  me  off  ; 
I  cannot  stand  there  and  have  Mr.  Hastings  kneel  to  me  — 
indeed,  I  cannot." 

"  But  why  not  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Mabury,  with  a  scrutinizing 
look,  "you  did  not  hesitate  to  have  Mr.  Irving  kneel  to 
you." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  him  so  well,  and  —  and  —  but  to  have  Mr. 
Hastings  kneel  and  look  at  me  so;  indeed,  I  cannot  do  it." 

"  Well,  do  not  look  so  much  alarmed  —  go  to  your  room, 
if  you  like,  and  I  will  make  your  excuse." 

Evelyn  gladly  a^d  quickly  withdrew,  and  calling  Madame 
L'Egare  and  Euston  Hastings  to  her,  Mrs.  Mabury  said  to 
them  in  a  low  voice  and  with  a  playful  manner,  "  You  must 
give  up  this  scene,  Miss  Beresford  seems  determined  that 
no  one  but  Mr.  Irving  shall  make  love  to  her  even  in  sport. 
As  for  you,"  addressing  herself  to  Mr.  Hastings,  "  you  are 
positively  awful  in  her  eyes,  and  as  no  one  else  can  so  w  >11 
enact  Ivanhoe,  we  must  give  this  up." 

"  I  am  equally  well  satisfied  either  way,"  said  Euston 
Hastings,  "and  only  regret  having  frightened  the  young 
lady.  Pray  assure  her  I  have  no  intention  of  interfering 
with  Mr.  Irving's  monopoly." 


76  CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"Very  provoking,"  exclaimed  Madame  L'Egare",  "she 
must  be  one  very  sensitive  demoiselle  if  she  cannot  look  for 
one  moment  at  any  other  gentleman  than  Mr.  Irving.  Mr. 
Irving,"  she  continued  in  a  louder  tone  to  Everard,  who 
was  observing  the  trio  with  almost  unconscious  earnestness, 
"  you  are  the  very  fortunate  man,  Miss  Beresford — "  but 
here  Mrs.  Mabury  checked  the  thoughtless  communication, 
and  Everard  was  left  to  conjecture  in  what  his  good  fortune 
consisted.  His  sparkling  eyes  and  smiling  lip,  as  well  as 
the  sudden  color  that  flushed  to  his  brow,  showed  his  own 
confidence  in  the  correctness  of  his  conclusions.  A  smile 
curled  the  lip  of  Euston  Hastings  too,  as  his  eyes  rested  for 
a  moment  on  the  face  of  Everard,  but  it  was  a  smile  whose 
meaning  was  less  easily  read. 

Madame  L'Egare  would  have  been  strengthened  in  her 
conviction  of  Evelyn's  excessive  sensitiveness,  could  she 
have  followed  her  to  her  own  apartment,  and  seen  her  as, 
casting  herself  into  a  chair,  she  covered  her  burning  face 
with  her  clasped  hands.  The  outer  world  was  wholly  shut 
out  from  her  perception,  yet  the  flush  came  and  went  upon 
her  cheek,  and  her  frame  thrilled  as  if  she  was  still  meeting 
that  look  so  tender  and  impassioned,  that  look  which  seemed 
at  once  to  reveal  the  soul  of  the  gazer  and  to  read  her  own. 

The  noise  of  the  company  departing  recalled  her  to  other 
thoughts.  Mrs.  Mabury  would  probably  seek  her  when 
they  were  gone,  and  with  a  scarce-defined  fear  of  her  ob- 
servation, Evelyn  rose  and  began  to  lay  aside  the  dress  of 
Rowena  and  resume  her  own;  yet  again  and  again  her 
thoughts  reverted  to  the  cause  of  her  recent  emotion,  and 
she  asked  herself  why  a  look  should  have  had  such  power 
over  her.  Everard  Irving's  gaze  had  never  thus  abashed 
her,  and  if  she  had  sometimes  turned  blushing  away  from 
it,  it  was  because  she  associated  with  it  the  words  of  love 
which  she  had  heard  from  him.  But  why  should  she  thus 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  77 

tremble  and  shrink  at  a  look  of  Mr.  Hastings — a  look,  too, 
assumed  but  in  sport.  A  proud  flush  again  crimsoned  hei 
cheek,  and  gave  a  new  character  to  her  face,  as  she  said  to 
herself,  "I  hate  these  tableaux,  and  wish  I  had  never  con- 
sented to  place  myself  where  I  must  permit  myself  to  be  so 
gazed  at,  or  endure  the  raillery  of  that  Madame  L'Egare.  I 
dread  to  meet  her." 

This  was  a  needless  dread,  as  Evelyn  found,  a  few  min- 
utes later,  when  she  obeyed  the  summons  to  dinner.  Mon- 
sieur and  Madame  L'Egare  and  Mr.  Hastings  were  with 
Mrs.  Mabury,  but  Madame  L'Egare  had  too  much  tact  and 
good  breeding,  after  the  first  provocation  of  her  disappoint- 
ment had  passed,  to  make  an  allusion  that  she  knew  must 
be  embarrassing  to  her  young  companion. 

Evelyn  was  vexed  to  feel  the  color  mounting  again  into 
her  cheek  on  meeting  Euston  Hastings,  a  vexation  that  was 
not  lessened  by  the  cold  and  haughty  reserve  expressed  in 
his  countenance  when  some  slight  courtesy  offered  to  her 
at  table  compelled  her  to  raise  her  eyes  to  his  face.  Her 
imagination,  she  felt,  must  at  least  greatly  have  exaggerated 
the  feeling  with  which  it  had,  for  a  moment,  appeared  to 
glow. 

The  gay  groups  which  began  to  assemble  at  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury's  about  nine  o'clock  of  the  evening  for  which  her  cards 
had  been  issued,  entertained  a  vague  expectation  of  some 
novel  diversion,  but  what  the  novelty  would  be  had  been 
a  secret  carefully  guarded  from  all  but  the  initiated  few. 
Expectation  was  yet  farther  excited  by  the  closed  doors  of 
an  apartment  usually  thrown  open  to  Mrs.  Mabury 's  guests  ; 
but  there  was  no  farther  sign  of  that  which  awaited  them, 
and  baffled  curiosity  was  at  its  utmost  elevation,  when  the 
room  in  which  they  stood  was  suddenly  darkened,  and,  at 
the  same  instant  of  time,  the  folding-doors  being  thrown 
open,  revealed  at  the  opposite  extremity  of  the  other  a  bril- 
7* 


78  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

liantly-lighted  tableau  of  Amy  Robsart  in  her  brief  hour  of 
joy,  as  seated  at  the  feet  of  the  base-minded  but  noble- 
seeming  Leicester,  she  gazed  fondly  and  admiringly  on  his 
graceful  person,  habited  in  all  the  brilliancy  of  his  court  ar- 
ray. Another  and  another  picture  rapidly  succeeded.  Loud 
plaudits  followed  the  appearance  of  Miranda  and  Ferdinand, 
of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  of  the  haughty  and  passionate  Brian  de 
Bois-Guilbert  and  the  noble  Rebecca.  Last  of  all  came  the 
scene  we  have  already  described  between  the  Jewess  and  the 
gentle  Rowena.  Before  this  scene  was  represented,  Euston 
Hastings,  having  doffed  the  Outlaw's  costume,  had  taken  his 
place  among  the  lookers-on. 

"  Beautiful !  beautiful !"  was  exclaimed  on  every  side. 

"  Both  beautiful,"  said  an  intimate  acquaintance  to  Eus- 
ton Hastings ;  "  but  the  Jewess  for  me — Rowena  is  too 


"  Passionless  !"  ejaculated  Euston  Hastings,  with  startling 
emphasis,  "  you  have  never  looked  into  her  eyes." 

Everard  Irving  was  just  behind  the  speaker,  and  a  slight 
frown  shadowed  his  open  brow  as  those  emphatic  tones  met 
his  ear ;  but  no  fear  of  Euston  Hastings  or  doubt  of  Evelyn 
mingled  with  his  displeasure  at  hearing  his  future  bride  al- 
luded to  with  such  freedom. 

Buoyant  in  spirit,  confiding  in  heart,  Everard  would  have 
seen  Evelyn  leave  her  retired  home  for  gayer  and  more  fre- 
quented scenes  without  an  apprehension,  had  not  Mr.  Beres- 
ford  taught  him  to  fear,  by  his  frequent  insinuations,  that 
Evelyn  had  assented  to  his  wishes  without  any  real  under- 
standing of  him  or  of  herself,  and  that  her  assent,  conse- 
quently, wanted  all  that  could  give  it  value  or  stability.  The 
doubt — the  distrust  thus  communicated,  was  an  unwonted 
and  unwelcome  guest  in  his  neart,  and  now  that,  after  three 
weeks'  trial  of  the  world  and  exposure  to  general  adulation, 
Evelyn  still  turned  to  him  as  her  chosen  companion,  and 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  79 

smiled  on  him  as  confidingly  as  ever,  it  was  indignantly  ban- 
ished thence.  His  spirit  joyfully  returned  to  its  accustomed 
repose,  and  he  expiated  his  unwilling  fault  by  yet  deeper  ten- 
derness and  a  more  unquestioning  faith  towards  her  he  loved. 

The  week  following  the  display  of  tableaux  vivans  at  Mrs. 
Mabury's  was  unusually  quiet.  All  seemed  to  experience 
something  of  the  languor  which  follows  great  excitement. 
For  the  first  time  in  Evelyn's  life  she  felt  that  causeless  sad- 
ness— that  weariness  of  spirit  and  vague  dissatisfaction  which 
are  the  almost  invariable  followers  of  an  artificial  exhilara- 
tion. Change  is  always  desirable  to  one  so  affected,  and 
Evelyn  would  have  returned  home,  but  Mrs.  Mabury  would 
not  listen  to  such  a  proposal,  and  even  her  father  perversely, 
as  she  thought,  opposed  it,  supposing  it  a  sacrifice  of  her 
own  inclination  to  what  she  believed  his  desire.  She  often 
excused  herself  from  accompanying  Mrs.  Mabury  and  Mad- 
ame L'Egare  in  their  morning  excursions,  pleading  some  in- 
dispensable engagement  at  home — a  letter  that  must  be 
written,  or  a  book  that  must  be  read.  Thus  one  morning, 
while  they  were  making  a  tour  of  the  shops,  she  stood  in 
the  conservatory,  watching,  with  admiring  eyes,  an  oxalis  as 
it  unrolled  its  crimson-tipped  petals  at  the  sun's  first  glance. 
Her  face  was  turned  from  the  parlor;  her  attention  was 
absorbed  by  the  flower,  and  she  neither  saw  nor  heard  the 
entrance  of  any  one  till  the  voice  of  Euston  Hastings,  sound- 
ing almost  close  beside  her,  caused  her  to  start  with  surprise. 

"  Pardon  me — I  have  alarmed  you,"  he  said,  in  his  gen- 
tlest tones. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Hastings,  you  have  alarmed  me !"  she  ex- 
claimed, endeavoring  to  laugh  off  some  feeling  of  embarrass- 
ment at  such  an  unexpected  t.ete-a-t6te,  "  and  unless  you 
can  show  me  your  invisible  ring,  or  Fortunatus's  cap,  I  shall 
not  easily  believe  that  one  who  moves  without  sound  is  a 
mortal  being  of  earth's  mould.'" 


80  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

He  made  no  reply  to  her  rallying — he  seemed  not  even 
to  hear  it,  but  continued  silently  to  gaze  on  her  with  an  ex- 
pression at  once  tender  and  sad.  Her  eyes  fell  beneath  his, 
and  turning  away,  she  moved  almost  unconsciously  a  few 
steps  from  him. 

"  Nay,  Evelyn," — it  was  the  first  time  he  had  named  her 
thus — "  leave  me  not — fear  not  to  look  on  me — I  do  not  ask 
riow  to  be  known  as  your  lover,  but  only  as  your  friend." 

This  allusion  to  a  scene  which  had  caused  her  so  much 
disquiet,  awakened  a  fear  that  rarely  slept  with  Evelyn  in 
the  presence  of  Euston  Hastings — a  fear  of  covert  ridicule. 
Vexation  restored  the  self-possession  which  had  been  over- 
come by  emotions  widely  different,  and  she  answered  quick- 
ly, "  Mr.  Hastings  does  not,  I  hope,  suppose  me  so  senseless 
as  to  fear  the  renewal  in  a  tHe-a-t£te  of  a  sport  intended  for 
the  amusement  of  others." 

"  Sport !"  he  repeated  with  emphasis,  "  but  so  be  it ; 
there  is  at  least  no  sport  in  my  asking  that  you  will  repose 
in  me,  and  suffer  me  to  exercise  towards  you  the  confidence 
of  a  friend !" 

A  friend  ! — could  it  be  possible  ? — might  Evelyn  believe 
her  senses  ?  Euston  Hastings,  the  observed  of  all  observers 
— Euston  Hastings,  the  haughty,  the  reserved — to  whose 
intellect  all  seemed  to  yield  willing  homage — whom  none 
approached  with  familiarity — suing  for  the  friendship  of  a 
girl,  almost  a  child  !  It  was  inconceivable,  and  the  bewil- 
dered Evelyn  could  scarcely  reply  to  it  at  all.  When  she 
did,  her  "  You  do  me  honor,  sir,"  spoken  without  even  a 
glance  at  him  she  addressed,  sounded  inexcusably  cold,  even 
to  herself. 

No  anger  colored  the  pale  brow  of  Euston  Hastings,  but 
drawing  himself  sligl  tly  up,  he  spoke  proudly  and  sadly, 
"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Btresford — you  have  punished  my  pre- 
sumption, and  I  now  only  ask  that  you  would  forget  it." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  81 

Evelyn  felt  that  she  had  wounded  him,  and  in  an  instant 
her  hand  was  in  his,  and  looking  upon  him  with  plead- 
ing eyes,  she  exclaimed,  "  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Hastings !  I 
was  so  much  surprised — so — I — "  She  could  not  pro- 
ceed. 

"  And  why  surpiised,  Evelyn  ? — permit  me  to  call  you  by 
that  name.  Why  should  you  be  surprised  ?  Did  you  think 
me  too  cold,  too  insensible  for  friendship  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  Mr.  Hastings  ;  but  I — I  have  no  claim — no  right 
— I  could  not  have  hoped — "  Again  Evelyn  paused,  con- 
fused and  embarrassed. 

"  You  thought  there  could  be  little  sympathy  between 
us,  but,  believe  me,  Evelyn,  there  is  more  than  you  imagine. 
Your  heart  springs  not  in  more  glad  accordance  with  the 
bright  and  the  beautiful  things  of  earth  than  mine,  though 
longer  experience  of  their  frailty  has  mingled  sadness  with 
my  enjoyment ;  and  you  too,  Evelyn,  you  have  deep  chords 
in  your  heart  whose  tones  are  sad,  or  why  is  the  music  you 
best  love  so  melancholy  ?  Not  thus  is  it  with  those  who 
surround  us.  Light,  gay  spirits,  they  float  upon  the  stream 
of  time,  uncursed  with  our  sad  gift  of  seeing  the  dark  and 
rushing  waters  beneath  the  many-colored  bubbles  on  their 
surface.  Can  you  wonder  that  they  seldom  awaken  my  in- 
terest— that  they  sometimes  excite  my  mockery  ?  But  you, 
Evelyn,  why  do  you  shrink  from  me  ?  Mockery  dies  in  the 
presence  of  pure  and  bright  spirits.  Fear  not  to  look  into 
my  soul — it  is  not  all  unsullied  like  yours,  but — " 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Hastings !  do  not  use  such  language  if  you 
would  have  me  believe  you  in  earnest.  What  soul  is  all  un- 
sullied ? — not  mine,  alas  !" 

"  Then,  Evelyn,  I  may  with  the  more  confidence  claim 
your  forbearance  and  your  friendship.  Your  love  I  do  not 
ask — that  is  the  portion  of  a  younger,  a  happier,  it  may 
be  a  better  man ;  but  may  not  our  souls  mingle  in  a  senti- 


82  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

ment  as  tender,  as  profound,  but  less  exacting,  less  selfish 
than  love? — shall  it  be  so,  Evelyn?" 

Evelyn  could  no  longer  distrust  the  sincerity  of  Euston 
Hastings — falsehood  spoke  not  with  such  earnest  tones — 
pleaded  not  with  such  truthful  eyes.  He,  of  whom  she  had 
heard  it  said,  that,  but  for  the  apathy  which  paralyzed  his 
power,  he  might  sway  men's  hearts  at  will,  did  in  truth  de- 
sire to  link  her  spirit  to  his.  She  seemed  to  have  passed 
into  a  new  sphere  of  existence.  Loftier  thoughts  dawned 
upon  her  mind — pure  and  blissful  emotions  filled  her  heart. 
Euston  Hastings  heard  her  quickened  breath,  saw  the  color 
flushing  and  fading  on  her  cheek,  and  felt  the  hand  which 
he  had  continued  to  clasp,  and  which  she  had  not  with- 
drawn, trembling  in  his ;  and  his  own  heart  throbbed,  and 
his  dark  eyes  kindled  with  a  glow  of  triumph  as  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Evelyn,  you  consent — henceforth  there  is  a  bond 
between  our  souls !" 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  then,  emboldened  by  her 
passiveness,  bowed  his  head  and  pressed  with  those  lips  her 
glowing  cheek. 

Minutes  followed  of  that  silence  which  is  the  spirit's  most 
expressive  language,  and  then  Euston  Hastings  said,  "  How 
proud  should  I  be  to  avow  to  all  the  bond  which  unites  us ! 
but  so  false  are  the  world's  views,  that  I  must  deny  myself 
this  gratification.  Feelings  too  refined  for  the  comprehen- 
sion of  the  vulgar  are  ever  stigmatized  as  wrong,  and  these, 
the  purest,  the  least  earthly  I  have  ever  known,  would  bring 
censure  upon  you  and  perhaps,  causeless  as  it  would  be, 
jealousy  to  your  lover.  Blush  not  thus,  dear  Evelyn,"  he 
whispered,  "  there  are  no  secrets  between  us  now.  For 
his  sake  and  for  yours  too,  in  this  misjudging  world,  we 
must  be  to  others  as  we  have  been ;  but  there  will  be  a 
sweet  consciousness  of  sympathy  in  our  hearts,  and  there 
will  be  moments,  fleeting  but  blissful,  in  which  that  con- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


sciousness  may  express  itself  in  looks  at  least,  if  not  in 
words." 

He  paused,  but  Evelyn  could  find  neither  words  nor  voice 
for  a  reply,  and  he  resuned  in  a  gayer  manner,  "  But  now 
tell  me  what  you  were  observing  so  earnestly  when  I  came 
in." 

She  showed  him  the  oxalis,  and  said,  "  That  little  flower, 
which  was  just  unrolling  its  petals  to  the  sun,  and  is  already 
closing  them  again  as  its  rays  have  passed  by  it." 

"  And  of  what  did  it  remind  you  ? — Shall  I  tell  you  ?" 
he  asked,  as  he  saw  that  Evelyn  hesitated. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile. 

"  You  compared  it  to  the  heart  which  unfolds  itself  to 
the  beams  of  its  sun — Love." 

The  comparison  was  so  obvious,  that  there  was  little 
hazard  in  the  surmise,  yet  Evelyn  looked  surprised. 

"  And  now  you  are  wondering  how  I  can  read  your 
thoughts.  Do  you  forget  there  is  now  a  chain  between  our 
souls  by  which  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  each  pass  to 
the  other  with  the  quickness  of  the  electric  flash  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room  was 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Mabury  and  Madame  L'Egare  entered, 
accompanied  by  Everard  Irving,  whom  they  had  met  at  the 
door  as  they  descended  from  their  carriage.  Listlessness 
was  the  prevailing  expression  of  Euston  Hastings'  coun- 
tenance and  manner  as  he  advanced  languidly,  but  with  all 
his  usual  self-possession,  to  meet  them.  Evelyn  could  not 
so  soon  recover  herself,  but  probably  Everard,  as  well  as 
the  ladies  whom  he  attended,  interpreted  her  slight  em- 
barrassment in  a  manner  flattering  to  himself. 

"Why  did  you  desert  us?"  asked  Mrs.  Mabury  of  her 
friend  Mr.  Hastings. 

"  Because  I  could  not  aid  two  ladies  of  such  exquisite 
taste  in  their  selection  of  laces  and  silks,  and  I  could  not 


84  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

hope,  till  that  was  accomplished,  to  win  your  attention  from 
a  subject  of  such  engrossing  interest.  May  I  hope  that  the 
relative  claims  of  blue  and  fawn,  and  pink  and  drab  have 
been  settled  to  your  satisfaction?"  he  added,  addressing 
Madame  L'Egare,  who,  in  ans\»  ering  him,  launched,  as  he 
had  expected,  into  a  contrast  between  New  York  and  Paris, 
concluding  with  her  regrets  for  her  exile,  and  thus  com- 
pletely diverting  attention  from  Evelyn. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  85 


CHAPTER  V. 

Learn  by  a  mortal  yearning  to  ascend 
Towards  a  higher  object.     Love  was  given, 
Encouraged,  sanctioned,  chiefly  for  that  end  ; 
For  this  the  passion  to  excess  was  driven, 
That  self  might  be  annulled. 

WORDSWORTH. 

AND  now  let  us  take  a  glance  at  Mary  Raymond  in  her 
retired  abode  in street,  Baltimore.  It  is  early  morn- 
ing. In  Mrs.  Maclaurin's  small  and  plainly,  though  neatly 
furnished  parlor,  a  wood  fire  burns  clearly  and  cheerfully. 
There  stands  the  breakfast-table  with  its  snowy  cloth  and 
polished  urn ;  and  there,  beside  the  fire,  is  another  table,  on 
which  are  placed  a  Bible,  a  prayer-book,  and  a  small  bell. 
Mrs.  Maclaurin  enters.  Her  tall  form  is  slightly  bent,-  and 
the  hair  which  is  seen  beneath  the  border  of  her  plain  cap, 
shows  little  of  its  former  glossy  black  among  the  snows  of 
many  winters.  She  is  dressed  in  mourning,  which  she  has 
never  laid  aside  since  the  death  of  her  husband,  yet  nothing 
gloomy,  nothing  discontented  appears  in  her  countenance. 
Its  expression  betokens  more  than  resignation  :  there  is  the 
serenity  of  a  mind  at  peace  with  itself  and  with  the  wo:  Id, 
the  joy  of  a  heart  living  in  the  light  of  its  Father's  smile. 
She  nngs  the  bell,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Mary  enters  the 
parlor.  Her  cheek  is  not  so  pale  as  when  we  parted  from 
her,  but  there  still  lingers  a  touch  of  sadness  in  the  smile 
with  which  she  returns  the  affectionate  and  cheerful  greeting 
of  her  friend.  Mary's  entrance  is  soon  followed  by  that  of 
8 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


several  domestics,  who  m/xlestly  seat  themselres  near  the 
door.  Mrs.  Maclaurin  sel  cts  a  hymn  and  hands  it  to  Mary, 
who  reads  it  aloud.  Mrs.  Maclaurin's  domestics  are  also 
her  Sunday  scholars,  and  this  hymn  they  have  already 
learned,  and  are  therefore  able  to  join  with  her  and  Mary 
in  singing  it  to  a  simple  but  melodious  air.  The  hymn  con- 
cluded, Mary  reads  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  and  then,  all 
kneeling  together,  Mrs.  Maclaurin  presents  the  thanks  of  all 
to  Him  who  has  preserved  them  through  the  night,  and  to 
whose  "kind  guidance  they  commit  themselves  for  the  day. 
This  simple  and  heartfelt  worship  concluded,  a  salutation 
and  inquiries,  respectful  on  the  one  side,  and  kind  and  cor- 
dial on  the  other,  pass  between  the  mistress  and  servants, 
and  then  the  preparation  for  breakfast  begins. 

This  meal  is  soon  concluded,  and  the  few  directions  re- 
quired in  so  small  and  well-arranged  a  household  having 
been  given,  Mrs.  Maclaurin  and  Mary  both  engage  in  some 
feminine  employment,  which  occupies  the  fingers  without 
engaging  the  mind.  They  sit  together,  apparently  for  the 
pleasure  of  conversation,  but  Mrs.  Maclaurin  soon  finds  that, 
as  usual  of  late,  she  must  sustain  the  conversation  herself. 
Her  companion  indeed  listens  with  an  appearance  of  interest 
when  she  speaks,  and  answers  always  with  pleasantness,  but 
she  quickly  relapses  into  a  fit  of  musing  so  deep,  that  she 
more  than  once  starts  with  surprise  when  addressed. 

Mrs.  Maclaurin  proposes  that  Mary  shall  read  to  her, 
and  she  takes  a  book.  She  has  read  perhaps  for  half  an 
hour,  when  Mrs.  Maclaurin  says,  "  That  is  a  fine  sentiment 
and  well-expressed — do  you  not  think  so  ?" 

Mary  colors  and  hesitates,  and  turns  to  the  book  to  as- 
certain what  the  sentiment  is  ;  then,  assenting  to  her  friend's 
remark,  would  proceed  with  the  reading,  but  Mrs.  Maclaurin 
stops  her. 

"  Nay,  Mary,  I  will   not  make   a  machine  of  you ;  you 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  8? 

shall  not  read  for  me,  while  your  thoughts  are  wandering 
away  to  distant  objects." 

Mary  began  to  stammer  out  an  apology,  but  Mrs.  Mac- 
laurin  said,  "There  is  no  need  of  an  apology,  my  dear. 
You  have  not  displeased  me  by  your  inattention  to  my  pet 
author,  nor  would  that  inattention  have  grieved  me  had  it 
been  a  single  instance ;  but  it  does  grieve  me  greatly,  be- 
cause it  is  but  one  of  many  instances  of  that  abstraction 
which  marks  a  painfully-preoccupied  mind.  I  have  wished 
to  speak  of  this  before,  Mary,  but  1  have  feared  to  wound 
you,  and  now  I  must  ask  your  permission  before  I  proceed. 
May  I  go  on  ?" 

"  Oil,  yes  !  my  dear  friend — my  mother's  friend — say  all 
you  would  say,  it  cannot  be  so  painful  as  my  own  thoughts 
are — thoughts  which  I  vainly  tried  to  escape  by  coming 
here,  which  I  have  sometimes  wished  to  reveal  to  you,  but 
could  not,  dared  not." 

Mary's  voice  was  lost  in  sobs.  Mrs.  Maclaurin  approached 
her,  and,  seating  herself  near  her,  folded  her  arms  tenderly 
around  her  and  drew  her  to  her  bosom. 

"  It  was  not  necessary  for  you  to  reveal  those  thoughts 
to  me,  Mary,  for  I  knew  them." 

Gentle  as  were  Mrs.  Maclaurin's  accents,  soothing  as  was 
her  manner,  a  thrill  passed  over  Mary's  frame,  and  she  hid 
her  face  more  entirely  on  the  friendly  bosom  on  which  it 
rested. 

Mrs.  Maclaurin  continued,  "  I  know  not  their  cause,  dear- 
est, nor  is  it  necessary  that  I  should" — Mary  ceased  to 
tremble — "but  I  am  too  well  acquainted  with  the  signs  of 
a  stricken  heart  not  to  have  seen  them  in  you.  I  have  seen 
that  life  has  disappointed  you,  and  that  you  have  been 
ready  to  turn  from  its  scarce-tasted  cup  with  an  impatient 
loathing,  ready  to  exclaim,  What  has  life  for  me  ?  Mary, 
do  not  be  angry,  or  suppose  that  I  cannot  sympathize  with 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


your  sorrows,  when  I  say,  that  life  offers  to  you,  as  largely 
as  to  any  of  God's  creatuTS,  the  highest  good  which  it  en- 
closes in  its  bosom." 

Mary  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"Nay,  listen  to  me,  dearest,"  said  her  friend,  laying  her 
hand  affectionately  and  soothingly  upon  her  head.  "  You 
have  been  bereaved,  and,  it  may  be,  disappointed  in  your 
affections ;  but  life  has  nobler  purposes,  a  higher  good  than 
the  gratification  of  these.  Oh,  Mary !  with  most  of  us,  it 
is  only  when  we  are  nigh  unto  death  that  we  learn  what  it 
is  to  live.  We  talk  of  acquainting  ourselves  with  the  lives 
of  eminent  persons,  when  we  read  a  record  of  the  events 
through  which  they  have  passed  ;  we  call  our  own  lives 
desolate,  because  events  of  a  painful  nature  have  befallen 
us  ;  but  these  are  not  our  life.  Life — the  principle  which 
makes  us  sentient,  intelligent,  active  beings ;  the  principle 
by  which  we  hold  converse  with  the  living  Spirit  of  beauty 
and  goodness  ;  by  which, — if  we  pervert  not  its  heavenly 
aims, — assimilating  with  that  Spirit  incarnated  in  the  adorable 
Saviour,  we  rise  from  the  finite  to  the  Infinite,  and,  resting 
on  the  bosom  of  Love,  find  blessedness  when  that  which 
made  our  happiness  has  vanished  from  our  grasp  ; — this  life, 
no  events  can  make  desolate.  Sorrow  may  darken  our  sky, 
but  the  loving,  trusting  child  of  God  rises  above  its  gloomy 
cloud,  and  there  shines  his  life  supremely  bright." 

Mary  raised  her  head — her  eyes,  on  whose  lashes  tears 
were  yet  trembling,  were  cast  down,  and  her  cheeks  glowed 
as  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  I  understand  you,  and  I 
sometimes  have  felt  as  you  describe,  but  only  for  moments. 
From  those  moments  I  have  drawn  all  the  strength  that  has 
sustained  me ;  but  there  are  very  many  long  hours  when  I 
cannot  rise  above  the  desolate  earth,  when  my  whole  being 
seems  comprised  in  the  affections  which — " 

Mar  v  paused  abruptly  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  89 

"Fear  not  to  speak  to  me,  dear  Mary — the  affections 
which — " 

"  Which  have  found  no  response,  and  which  I  yet  strive 
vainly  to  recall,"  murmured  Mary,  in  husky  and  agitated 
tones. 

"  And  why  should  you  recall  them,  Mary  ?  Strive  only 
to  purify  them  from  the  exactingness  of  selfish  passion,  and 
then,  though  they  should  be  such-  that  you  would  joyfully 
die  for  the  good  of  their  object,  you  need  not  repress  them. 
It  is  not  the  strength  of  our  affection  for  which  we  should 
blush,  but  for  its  character.  Let  it  be  a  pure  and  gen- 
erous affection,  and  we  shall  find  blessedness  in  its  exercise. 
Do  not  think  I  mean  to  reflect  on  you,  dearest,  when  I  say 
that  what  are  called  the  sufferings  of  distppointed  affec- 
tions, often  derive  their  chief  bitterness  from  the  goadings 
of  pride.  It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive,  says 
he  who  never  erred,  and  though  earth  should  offer  little 
else  to  you,  you  will  never  fail  to  find  in  it  objects  for  the 
exercise  of  your  kindly  affections,  of  your  tender  sympa- 
thies, of  your  generous  action." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  while  Mary  sat  ap- 
parently reflecting  on  what  her  friend  had  said.  At  length, 
in  slow  and  measured  tones,  and  without  removing  the  hand 
which  shaded  her  eyes,  she  said,  "  Man  may  find  happiness 
in  this  independent  exercise  of  his  powers,  but  woman 
is  so  dependent  in  her  nature — she  needs  support — and 
I,  when  my  spirit  faints  and  grows  weary,  where  shall  I 
rest  ?" 

"  On  God,  my  beloved  child.  He  will  support  and 
strengthen  you." 

"  But  there  are  times,  as  I  have  already  told  you — much, 
much  of  my  life — when  I  cannot  raise  myself  to  Him — 
when,  like  the  dove  from  the  ark,  my  spirit  wanders  over 
the  earth  in  vain  search  of  a  resting-place." 
8* 


90  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  You  will  find  none,  Mary ;  or,  if  you  do,  a  deluge  of 
affliction,  or  the  waters  of  death,  will  soon  bear  you  from 
it.  God  would  have  you  soar  above  the  earth,  not  rest 
upon  it.  You  spoke  but  a  few  minutes  since  of  woman's 
dependent  nature.  Believe  me,  my  dear  Mary,  much  of 
this  dependence  is  the  result  of  education  rather  than  of 
nature — of  an  education  which  has  taught  her  to  draw 
her  impulses  and  her  rewards  from  others  rather  than  from 
her  own  heart  and  from  Heaven.  Your  parents  sought  to 
avoid  this  great  evil  in  your  education,  but  the  influences  of 
society  were  against  them,  and  see — those  whose  approval 
you  most  desired  are  removed  from  you,  and  cannot  witness 
your  efforts ;  and  your  accustomed  avocations — your  most 
useful  and  your^most  pleasing  pursuits  are  alike  disregarded, 
or  entered  into  with  a  listlessness  that  renders  them  a  task 
— friends  who  might  have  exacted  from  you  some  exertion 
are  neglected — and  I,  of  all  who  loved  you,  have  been 
chosen,  because  you  believed  that  here  you  might  be  left 
to  the  quiet  indulgence,  of  your  sorrow." 

"  Oh,  no — no !  there  was  no  selfish  indulgence,  but  a 

great  and  painful  effort  in  removing  myself  from 1  mean 

in  coming  here." 

"  It  was  a  noble  effort,  dear  Mary — an  effort  worthy  of 
yourself;  but  is  that  to  be  the  last  act  of  your  life?  Are 
your  powers  to  be  henceforth  wasted  in  vain  and  selfish 
regrets  ?  You  have  been  now  a  month  with  me — in  that 
time  what  has  your  life  produced  of  good  for  yourself,  or 
for  others — " 

"  Oh,  spare  me  !  spare  me  !"  cried  Mary,  with  streaming 
tears. 

"  My  precious  child: — dear  to  me  for  your  own  sake  and 
for  your  mother's — if  I  probe  severely,  it  is  that  I  may 
heal,  Listen  to  me,  and  if  you  would  win  back  peace  to 
your  bosom,  and  overcome  all  that  is  unworthy  in  your 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  91 

feelings,  make  one  vigorous  effort.  You  will  find  every 
subsequent  one  less  and  less  difficult.  Begin  at  once,  not 
to-morrow  but  to-day,  to  LIVE,  again — to  cultivate  your 
powers,  to  exercise  your  affections,  and  to  look  upward  and 
inward  for  your  reward.  Come  now,  this  morning,  and 
make  a  visit  with  me.  Do  not  shrink  back  and  look  so 
deprecatingly — it  is  not  to  the  abode  of  wealth  and  fashion 
— it  is  not  even  to  renew  the  friendly  associations  once  so 
valued  that  I  invite  you,  but  to  a  scene  of  suffering  poverty, 
where  your  sympathies  will  be  irresistibly  awakened,  and 
your  heart  will  impel  you  to  actions  of  which  its  approval 
will  constitute  the  sweetest  reward." 

Mary  could  not  refuse  such  an  invitation,  and  retiring  to 
her  room,  she  soon  appeared,  equipped  for  a  walk,  and  with 
a  composed  if  not  cheerful  countenance.  Mrs.  Maclaurin 
was  ready,  and  taking  her  young  friend's  arm,  she  left  the 
house,  and  turning,  at  a  short  distance  from  it,  into  an  ob- 
scure street  which  was  quite  unknown  to  Mary,  she  passed 
some  six  or  eight  houses,  all  looking  like  the  abodes  of 
poverty,  and  stopped  before  one  of  wood,  whose  unpainted 
walls  bore  the  marks  of  many  a  storm.  From  the  lower 
windows  many  panes  of  glass  had  been  broken,  and  were 
replaced  by  bundles  of  rags  or  garments  of  various  colors. 
There  was  neither  bell  nor  knocker  to  the  door,  but  at  a 
rap  of  Mrs.  Maclaurin's  knuckles  upon  its  panel,  a  sash  was 
thrown  up,  and  a  woman's  head  protruded  with  the  ques- 
tion, "  What  d'ye  want  ?" 

"We  have  come  to  see  Elizabeth  Barnard — pray,  open 
the  door  for  us,"  said  Mrs.  Maclaurin  gently. 

Slamming  the  sash  down,  she  came  towards  the  door, 
through  which  her  shuffling  tread  and  muttering  tones 
sounded  little  like  a  welcome. 

"  How  is  Elizabeth  to-day  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Maclaurin. 

"  I'm  sure  1  don't  know — how  should  I  ?    I've  got  my 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


own  business  to  mind — I  dare  say  she's  bad  enough,  but 
you  can  go  up  and  see." 

Mrs.  Maclaurin,  followed  by  Mary,  ascended  the  steps 
leading  to  the  next  story,  and  paused  there  to  rest  herself. 
Two  doors  opened  on  the  passage  in  which  they  stood,  and 
Mary  asked  if  she  should  knock  at  one  of  them. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  "  we  must  go  up  another 
pair  of  stairs." 

They  ascended  accordingly,  and  Mary  found  herself  in 
an  open  garret,  across  one  corner  of  which  was  drawn  a 
tattered  curtain.  Raising  this,  Mrs.  Maclaurin  whispered 
to  her  companion,  ",She  is  asleep,"  at  the  same  time  sign- 
ing to  her  to  approach. 

Mary  passed  under  the  curtain  and  stood  beside  a  thin 
mattress,  laid  upon  the  floor,  on  which  was  extended  the 
pale  and  emaciated  form  of  a  young  girl.  Her  head  was 
supported  by  a  single  pillow  without  a  case,  and  some  of 
her  clothing  was  added  to  the  scanty  covering  of  her  bed. 
Even  in  her  sleep  there  was  an  expression  of  care  on  her 
pale  face  which  was  deeply  touching  in  one  so  young,  and 
as  Mary  stood  silently  gazing  on  her,  tears  gathered  in  her 
eyes,  and — "  I  have  murmured  and  been  impatient  with  my 
lot," — was  the  thought  of  her  self- reproachful  heart. 

The  sleeper  moved,  and  Mrs.  Maclaurin  advanced  nearer 
to  her  mattress,  while  Mary  drew  out  of  sight.  She  opened 
her  eyes  and  looked  at  first  with  some  wildness  on  her  vis- 
iter ;  but  as  memory  awoke,  a  smile  lightened  her  haggard 
face,  and  she  feebly  murmured,  "  Oh,  ma'am !  how  good 
you  are  to  come  again  !" 

"  I  have  come  now  with  the  hope  of  making  you  more 
comfortable  before  I  leave  you — but  how  are  you  to-day  ?" 

"  So  weak,  ma'am ;  but  for  that  I  should  be  almost  well, 
for  I  have  had  no  fever  for  two  days  now." 

While  Elizabeth  was  speaking,  a  noise  was  heard  on  the 


CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  93 

stairs,  and  one  of  Mrs.  Maclaurin's  servants  entered  with 
some  nourishment  for  the  invalid.  As  she  rose  to  take  it 
she  perceived  Mary,  and  a  slight  flush  passed  over  her  pale 
cheek. 

"  This  is  a  young  friend  of  mine,  Elizabeth,  who  hopes  to 
be  of  service  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  who  saw  and 
pitied  the  natural  emotion  of  shame  from  which  that  flush 
proceeded. 

Mary  advanced,  and  kneeling  on  the  floor  beside  the 
mattress,  spoke  to  the  poor  girl  with  soothing  tenderness, 
and  supported  her  while  she  sat  up.  When  she  had  again 
lain  down  and  the  servant  had  been  dismissed,  Mary  asked 
if  the  rooms  in  the  house  were  all  occupied. 

"  This  place,"  she  said,  "  must  be  very  cold  at  night — it 
is  cold  even  now,  and  you  can  have  no  fire  here.  Is  there 
no  room  you  can  have  in  this  house,  or  do  you  not  feel 
strong  enough  to  be  removed  in  a  carriage  to  a  more  com- 
fortable place  ?" 

"There  are  rooms  enough  here,  ma'am,"  said  the  sufferer 
feebly,  "  and  when  I  was  well  and  could  work,  I  had  a  very 
nice  room  on  the  second  floor  and  found  myself,  and  lived 
very  comfortably ;  but  when  I  got  sick,  I  had  so  little 
money  that  I  knew  I  couldn't  pay  Mrs.  Conolly  long — so  I 
told  her  how  it  was,  and  she  let  me  have  this  place  for 
nothing." 

"For  nothing!  I  should  think  so,"  said  Mary,  as  the 
color  flushed  to  her  brow,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  indig- 
nation. 

"  Oh,  ma'am !  you  know  she  might  have  turned  me  into 
the  street ;  and  besides,  she  sent  word  to  the  doctor  that 
told  this  good  lady  how  ill  I  was.  I  ought  to  be  thankful 
to  her,  I  know." 

Poor  Elizabeth  !   she  spoke  as  if  the  duty  was  not  easy. 

"And  this  room  in  which  you  formerly  lived,  is  there 


94  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

another  tenant  in  it  now?"  asked  Mary,  in  gentler  tones 
than  she  had  last  used — for  there  was  something  holy  in 
Elizabeth's  efforts  to  speak  charitably  of  her  uncharitable 
landlady,  before  which  even  a  generous  anger  was  re- 
buked. 

"No,  ma'am,  it  is  empty  still;  but  then,  you  know 
ma'am,  Mrs.  Conolly  has  a  better  chance  of  letting  it  so, 
than  if  there  was  a  sick  person  in  it.  I  had  very  hard 
thoughts  about  it  at  first,  I  acknowledge,"  said  the  poor 
girl  as  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  "  when  I  thought  I  was 
going  to  die  here ;  but  I  know  they  were  wrong  thoughts," 
she  continued,  turning  her  eyes  on  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  as  if  to 
excuse  herself  to  her, — "  for  I,  who  was  too  proud  to  be 
indebted  to  old  and  kind  friends  when  I  was  left  a  desolate 
orphan,  ought  not  surely  to  wish  that  a  stranger,  like  Mrs. 
Conolly,  should  forget  her  own  interest  for  me.  Yes — it 
was  my  own  pride  that  brought  me  here — pride !"  she  re- 
peated with  bitter  emphasis,  as  casting  a  rapid  glance 
around  her,  she  clasped  her  emaciated  hands  over  her  eyes 
and  burst  into  tears. 

Mary  could  not  speak  for  her  own  tears,  but  she  laid  her 
hand  gently  on  the  sufferer's,  and  Mrs.  Maclaurin  spoke 
soothingly  to  her,  telling  her  that  she  should  soon  be  made 
more  comfortable,  and  that  when  she  was  quite  well  they 
would  hear  all  she  had  to  say,  but  till  then  she  must  nei- 
ther speak  nor  think  of  any  thing  agitating.  The  servant 
soon  returned  with  a  supply  of  bedding — clean  sheets,  pil- 
lows, blankets.  Mrs.  Maclaurin  had  heard  only  the  evening 
before  of  this  claimant  on  her  charities  from  her  own  phy- 
sician, who  called  to  request  that,  as  she  was  not  very 
distant  from  hor,  she  would  provide  her  with  some  nourish- 
ment for  the  night.  This  Mrs.  Maclaurin  had  done,  and 
accompanying  the  servant  who  carried  it,  had  become 
deeply  interested  in  the  suffering  Elizabeth.  It  was  late 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  95 

at  night,  however,  and  she  feared  to  make  any  changes 
which  would  involve  exposure  to  the  invalid  in  the  chilling 
atmosphere  of  the  garret  at  that  hour.  Elizabeth.,  too, 
seemed  drowsy,  and  disliked  the  idea  of  any  exertion. 
Mrs.  Maclaurin  had,  therefore,  been  compelled  to  leave  her 
for  another  night  on  her  uncomfortable  pallet. 

On  the  entrance  of  the  servant,  Mary,  making  a  sign  to 
Mrs.  Maclaurin  to  follow  her,  went  out,,  or  rather  passed  to 
the  other  side  of  the  curtain. 

"  My  dear  friend  !"  she  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Mac- 
laurin stood  by  her  side,  "  that  poor  girl  must  not  lie  there 
— we  must  get  a  room  for  her.  Do  you  think  she  could  be 
removed  to  another  house?" 

"  That  would  not  be  necessary,  my  love, — you  have 
heard  her  say  that  there  are  very  comfortable  rooms  in 
this  house." 

"But  she  will  need  some  attention — some  care,  and  if 
she  stay  here  with  this  unkind  woman  she  will  require  a 
nurse." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  and  raising  the 
curtain,  she  asked,  "  Elizabeth,  did  you  not  tell  me  that 
you  had  a  friend  who  had  taken  care  of  you  when  you 
were  at  the  worst,  and  who  came  now  every  day  to  look 
after  you?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am — Mrs.  Roberts.  She  is  poor  herself,  and 
a  widow,  with  two  little  children  to  support,  or  I  should 
have  wanted  nothing.  This  mattress  and  pillow  are  hers." 

"  Why  did  she  not  take  you  to  her  house  ?"  asked  Mary, 
looking  over  her  friend's  shoulder. 

"  She  has  but  one  room,  ma'am,  for  herself  and  her  chil- 
dren ;  but  she  would  have  given  me  part  of  that,  if  I  had 
not  been  too  ill  to  move  when  she  first  came  to  me." 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  be  willing  to  remove  here  ?' 
asked  Mrs.  Maclaurin. 


9(5  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  She  got  in  debt  to  her  landlord,  ma'am,  when  her  chil- 
dren were  ill  with  the  scarlet  fever,  and  I  do  not  think  he 
would  like  her  to  go  away  till  she  had  paid  him ;  besides, 
moving  costs  money,  if  you  have  ever  so  little  to  move." 

"  But,  if  her  rent  were  paid  there,  and  her  expenses  in 
moving  paid  too,  do  you  think  she  would  be  willing  to  come 
here?"  asked  Mary. 

"  Oh  yes,  ma'am !  I  am  sure  she  would,"  and  pleased 
expectation  lit  up  Elizabeth's  languid  eyes,  and  colored  her 
pale  cheek. 

Mary's  face  was  radiant  with  smiles  as  she  turned  away 
to  accomplish  her  benevolent  designs. 

"  You  will  come  with  me,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Maclaurin. 

"  No,  my  love,  it  is  your  work,  and  you  shall  finish  it 
yourself.  But  stay — we  have  yet  some  things  to  learn 
from  Elizabeth,  and  before  I  ask  her  questions  which  will 
still  farther  raise  her  hopes,  let  me  remind  you  that  what 
you  are  proposing  will  require  no  small  sum  of  money  to 
accomplish,  and  before  you  make"  any  promises  you  must 
be  quite  sure  that  you  can  perform  them." 

"Mr.  Beresfoid  paid  me  my  half-yearly  allowance  of 
pocket-money  on  the  morning  he  left  me,  though  it  was 
somewhat  in  advance.  This  amounted  to  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  It  is  untouched,  and  I  have  not  quite  ex- 
hausted my  previous  supply.  May  I  venture  on  this  ?"  she 
asked  with  an  assured  smile. 

"Oh,  yes!  without  doubt, — but  Elizabeth  can  tell  us 
what  the  rent  was.  We  had  better  trust  as  little  as  need 
be  to  Mrs.  Conolly's  conscience." 

Elizabeth  said  that  she  had  paid  one  dollar  a  week  for 
the  room  and  furniture,  and  that  she  had  always  been  re- 
quired to  pay  in  advance.  Furnished  with  this  information 
and  the  address  of  Elizabeth's  friend,  Mrs.  Roberts,  Mary 
was  at  length  suffered  to  depart.  Her  interview  with  Mrs. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  97 

Conolly  was  soon  satisfactorily  concluded ;  for  the  sight  of 
Mary's  purse,  and  her  offer  to  pay  at  once  a  month's  rent 
of  the  room  in  advance,  transformed  her  into  an  obsequious 
attendant.  The  apartment  into  which  she  ushered  Mary 
was  large,  and  looked  cheerful  as  the  sunlight  streamed 
into  its  uncurtained  windows ;  a  rag-carpet  covered  part  of 
the  floor ;  there  was  in  it  a  good  bedstead  and  tolerable  bed, 
a  few  chairs  and  a  table.  Having  informed  her  friend  of 
the  arrangement  she  had  made,  and  leaving  her  to  direct 
the  servant  and  Mrs.  Conolly— who  now  readily  offered  her 
services — in  preparing  the  room  for  its  intended  occupants, 
Mary  set  out  on  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Roberts  without  again 
seeing  Elizabeth. 

Mrs.  Roberts  felt  a  deep  interest  in  Elizabeth  Barnard, 
and  Mary's  proposal  that  she  should  take  care  of  her,  and 
receive  immediately  a  month's  advance  of  the  remuneration 
justly  due  to  her  as  a  nurse,  enabled  her  to  gratify  this  in- 
terest without  disregard  to  justice  or  to  the  claims  of  her 
children,  and  it  was  therefore  gladly  accepted. 

"  How  soon  shall  I  say  to  Elizabeth  you  will  be  with 
her?"  asked  Mary,  as  she  took  leave  of  her. 

"  It  will  not  take  me  long  to  pack  up,  ma'am,"  said  she, 
glancing  with  a  smile  on  the  few  articles  of  furniture  in  her 
neatly-kept  rooms ;  "  I  will  follow  you  in  an  hour  at  far- 
thest." 

At  Mrs.  Conolly's  door  lay  a  load  of  wood  which  a  man 
was  engaged  in  sawing,  and  as  Mary  opened  the  door  of  the 
room  in  which  the.  now  courteous  landlady  told  her  she 
would  find  those  whom  she  sought,  the  cheerful  blaze  of  a 
WDod  fire  played  on  her  face.  The  sunbeams  had  been 
shaded  by  curtains  for  which  Mrs.  Maclaurin  had  sent  home, 
fearing  that  the  light  would  be  too  glaring  for  a  feeble  in- 
valid. There,  on  a  comfortable  bed,  supported  by  soft  pil- 
lows and  dressed  in  a  cap  and  gown  of  spotless  whiteness, 
9 


98  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

lay  the  poor  girl  whom  the  friends  had  found  so  desolate 
and  untended  on  her  hard  pallet  in  the  open  garret.  Her 
eyes  were  closed  when  Mary  entered,  but  noiselessly  as  she 
moved,  her  presence  was  perceived  by  senses  sharpened  by 
illness.  Opening  her  eyes,  Elizabeth  fixed  them  with  an 
expression  of  mingled  reverence  and  tenderness  on  her 
youthful  benefactress ;  then,  suddenly  stretching  her  arms 
towards  her,  she  strove  to  speak,  and  burst  into  tears.  Mary 
advanced  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  kissed  her  cheek  and  wept 
with  her. 

"  Oh  !  how  can  I  thank  you  ?"  at  length  sobbed  Eliza- 
beth. 

"  It  is  I,  dear  Elizabeth,  who  should  be  most  thankful," 
said  Mary,  "  for  I  am  sure  it  is  I  who  am  happiest ;  but  we 
will  both  thank  God,  who  gave  me  the  power  to  be  useful 
to  you ;  and  good  Mrs.  Maclaurin  too,"  she  added,  turning 
to  her  friend,  "  who  brought  me  to  see  you,  and  who  has 
suffered  me  to  share  in  her  efforts  to  serve  you.  But  your 
friend,  Mrs.  Roberts,  will  be  here  in  an  hour — are  you  not 
a  little  afraid  her  children  will  disturb  you •?" 

Thus  Mary  gently  endeavored  to  turn  Elizabeth's  atten- 
tion from  herself  and  her  benefits. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  Elizabeth  replied,  "  they  are  such  good,  quiet 
children,  that  I  am  sure  they  will  not  disturb  me ;  besides, 
they  are  at  school  most  of  the  day." 

Mrs.  Roberts  was  punctual  to  her  time,  and  as  a  single 
cart  brought  her  furniture,  it  was  soon,  with  the  aid  of  her 
children,  placed  in  the  room  and  the  large  closet  attached 
to  it,  and  she  sat  down,  by  two  o'clock,  with  a  quiet,  home- 
like air,  which  did  much  to  compose  the  excited  Elizabeth. 
Mrs.  Maclaurin  and  Mary  now  took  their  leave,  the  latter 
giving  Mrs.  Roberts  some  money  to  purchase  whatever  she 
might  think  necessary  for  her  young  protegee,  whom  she 
promised  to  visit  again  on  the  morrow. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  99 

"  And  now,  Mary,  what  think  you  of  life  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Maclaurin,  as  they  stood  again  together  in  her  parlor. 

Tears  glistened  in  Mary's  eyes  as  she  replied,  "  That  it  is 
full  of  a  blessedness  of  which  I,  in  my  low  selfishness,  could 
not  conceive.  How  unworthy  I  must  have  seemed  to  you 
while  my  whole  soul  was  so  absorbed  with  myself  that 
earth  seemed  barren  and  desolate  because  my  desires  were 
ungratified." 

"  You  reproach  yourself  too  bitterly,  my  child.  Your 
fault  was  one  in  which  you  have  many  companions.  Self- 
ishness is  the  universal  sin  of  humanity ;  the  best  escape 
from  it  only  at  moments,  and  those  moments  are  foretastes 
of  Heaven." 

For  many  days  Mary  spent  a  part  of  every  day  with  her 
young  protegee.  She  heard  her  simple  story,  wept  with 
her  over  the  memory  of  her  father — a  clergyman  in  a  re- 
tired village — whose  death  had  left  this  only  and  indulged 
child,  at  sixteen,  without  resource,  except  in  the  compassion 
of  friends  or  the  exertion  of  her  yet  immature  powers. 
With  the  self-confidence  of  youth,  the  last  had  seemed  the 
most  desirable  to  the  child  of  love,  who  found  something 
cold  and  selfish  in  the  most  kindly-meant  offers  of  the  few 
who  would,  for  the  father's  sake,  have  saved  the  child  from 
want.  With  a  firmness  which  they  styled  obstinacy,  and 
an  energy  which  seemed  to  them  bold  recklessness  in  one  so 
young,  she  received  the  small  sum  of  money  which  remained 
from  the  sale  of  their  furniture  after  the  expenses  of  her  fa- 
ther's funeral  had  been  defrayed,  and  set  out  for  the  nearest 
city,  Baltimore,  to  seek  employment.  Months  passed  away 
while  she  was  applying  in  vain  to  school  after  school,  family 
after  family,  for  a  situation  as  teacher.  Her  purse  and  hei 
hopes  were  alike  low,  when,  in  the  cheap  boarding-house 
to  which  her  diminished  resources  had  led  her,  she  met  Mrs. 
Roberts.  Disappointment  and  trial  were  familiar  to  the  poor 


100 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


widow,  and  she  quickly  recognised  traces  of  their  presence 
with  Elizabeth.  Her  benevolent  sympathy  was  excited  for 
the  young  stranger.  She  soon  won  her  confidence,  and  of- 
fered to  procure  her  employment  with  the  needle,  by  which 
she  supported  herself.  The  offer  was  gladly  accepted,  and 
its  results  are  known  to  the  reader.  Elizabeth  had  lived  by 
it  in  health,  but  had  been  unable  to  make  any  provision  for 
illness. 

As  some  interest  may  have  been  excited  for  the  poor 
Elizabeth,  we  will  say,  before  we  take  our  leave  of  her,  that, 
when  her  health  was  re-established,  she  obtained  a  place 
as  a  teacher  through  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  and 
that  the  kindness  which  her  sorrows  had  first  awakened, 
was  perpetuated  by  the  excellent  qualities  which  she  mani- 
fested. 

This  seems  to  the  transient  observer  but  a  quickly-passing 
episode  in  Mary's  life,  yet  its  impressions  interwove  them- 
selves with  her  whole  being,  and  greatly  influenced  her  fu- 
ture destiny.  She  had  felt  that  life  has  higher,  nobler 
enjoyments  than  any  gratifications  having  reference  only  to 
ourselves — even  though  they  should  be  gratifications  con- 
nected with  our  warmest  affections.  In  the  light  which  had 
flashed  upon  her  soul,  she  had  seen  plainly  that  her  hope- 
less despondency,  her  bitter  repining,  had  their  root  in  a 
low  selfishness  which  she  was  too  noble  to  indulge,  and 
thenceforth  she  resisted  them  earnestly,  though  her  resist- 
ance was  marked  rather  by  the  fitful  energy  of  one  who 
fears  each  moment  that  his  foe  will  conquer,  than  by  the 
calm  strength  of  the  assured  victor.  She  hurried  from  em- 
ployment to  employment,  sought  with  avidity  the  society 
she  had  lately  shunned,  and  had  not  lier  mourning  prevent- 
ed, would  probably  have  entered  eager.y  into  amusements 
which  had  formerly  possessed  little  charm  for  her.  That 
she  was  thus  prevented  Mrs.  Maclaurin  could  not  regret,  for 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  101 

she  knew  that  in  the  world's  giddy  round  of  thought-dispel- 
ling pleasure,  Mary  might  forget  her  trials,  but  she  would 
not  rise  above  them.  She  had  respected  too  much  the 
womanly  delicacy  of  her  young  friend,  to  pry  curiously  into 
her  heart's  recesses;  but  whatever  had  been  the  causes 
of  her  sorrow,  she  knew  that  they  had  been  appointed  by 
Infinite  Love  and  Infinite  Wisdom  not  to  be  forgotten,  but 
to  be  improved, — to  purify  and  elevate  the  heart  they 
pierced.  To  her,  as  to  Mary,  life — external  life — was  cold 
and  barren,  and  she  knew  that  for  Mary  as  for  her,  this  un- 
lovely form  enclosed  a  spirit  of  beauty  and  of  joy.  She 
knew,  too,  that  to  those  who  covered  the  form  with  the  gaudy 
trappings  and  false  shows  of  earth,  the  spirit  would  never 
become  visible  ;  but  that  they  should  see  it  and  enjoy  it  and 
become  one  with  it  who,  cultivating  their  own  spiritual  na- 
tures, developed  by  exercise  all  by  which  we  hold  affinity 
with  the  Beautiful  and  the  Good. 

"  Ah  !  is  it  possible  I  see  my  dear  pupil  ?" 

The  exclamation  was  from  Mr.  Manelli,  Mary's  former 
drawing-master,  and  was  uttered  on  meeting  her  accidentally 
in  the  streets  of  Baltimore.  "  And  how  long  have  you  re- 
turned '?"  he  asked,  as  Mary  paused  to  welcome  him  with 
the  most  animated  expressions  of  pleasure. 

"  I  have  been  here  six  weeks." 

"  Six  weeks,  and  I  do  not  see  or  hear  from  you ! — I  am 
grieved."  And  Mr.  Manelli's  saddened  countenance  and 
voice  made  the  quick  tears  start  into  Mary's  eyes,  as,  pass- 
ing her  hand  through  his  arm  with  a  daughter's  affectionate 
freedom,  she  said — 

"  You  must  pardon  me,  dear  sir,  for  indeed  I  have 
scarcely  been  out  anywhere  till  very  lately,  and  I  was  even 
now  on  my  way  to  see  you  and  Aspasie." 

"Were  you? — that  was  kind."  A  smile,  gentle  and 
loving  as  that  of  infancy,  lit  up  the  old  man's  face  as  he 
9* 


102  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

added,  "  You  were  always  a  good  girl — pardon  me — I 
should  &ay  now,  a  gracious  lady." 

"  No — no,"  said  Mary,  quickly,  "  let  me  feel  that  you  are 
just  the  same  to  me  as  in  old  days,  when  I  was  your  pet- 
pupil  and  Aspasie's  playfellow." 

"  You  are — you  are  the  same  dear  child  to  me,  and  to 
Aspasie  too.  How  joyful  she  will  be  to  see  you !" 

Mr.  Manelli  quickened  his  steps  at  this  thought,  as  if  he 
was  impatient  to  give  his  daughter  such  pleasure.  While  he 
and  Mary  are  proceeding  towards  his  home,  we  will  intro- 
duce him  more  particularly  to  the  acquaintance  of  the  reader. 
Fancy  a  tall  and  muscular  frame,  with  the  wide  shoulders 
stooping  slightly  forward — an  inclination  which  seems  the 
effect  of  habit  rather  than  of  feebleness  or  age, — a  face 
whose  features  are  all  large,  the  forehead  high  and  broad, 
especially  in  the  region  above  the  temples  where  phrenolo- 
gists locate  ideality — perhaps  we  should  have  said  the  head 
rather  than  the  forehead,  for  the  long  straight  hair,  in  which 
black  and  gray  are  mingled  in  about  equal  proportions,  hangs 
carelessly  about  the  face,  rendering  it  difficult  to  tell  where 
the  forehead  really  terminates, — the  eyes  are  of  dark  gray, 
and  are  set  deep,  beneath  bushy  brows — but  what  a  soul 
looks  out  from  them  !  Gentle,  loving,  guileless  as  an  infant's 
seems  the  spirit  that  meets  yours  in  those  glances.  It  awa- 
kens your  tenderness,  a  tenderness  which  has  something 
almost  protecting  in  its  nature,  but  even  while  you  look 
perchance  the  expression  changes,  and  thought  so  profound 
is  mirrored  there,  that  you  bow  with  reverence  before  the 
sage,  and  wait  for  his  teachings  with  earnest  attention. 

But  Mary  and  her  companion  are  before  his  dwelling,  and 
that  too  deserves  some  description — not  the  house  itself,  for 
it  is  a  common-enough  two-story  building  of  wood,  and  not 
very  newly  painted ;  but  it  stands  far  back  from  the  street, 
and  is  approached  through  paths  bordered  by  rose-trees, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  10& 

which,  even  at  this  late  season,  are  bending  under  their 
wealth  of  flowers,  and  the  beds  on  either  side  are  gay  with 
autumnal  flowers — china-asters,  dahlias,  and  chrysauthi- 
mums.  The  low  porch  is  covered  with  vines  whose  red 
berries  show  where  lately  bloomed  the  woodbine,  the  honey- 
suckle, or  the  sweetbrier.  The  windows  are  open  and  give 
a  view,  not  of  paved  streets  and  brick  walls,  but  of  the 
bright  blue  waters  of  the  Petapsco,  on  whose  shore  Balti- 
more stands,  studded  with  sails.  There  was  no  necessity  to 
ring  or  knock  for  entrance.  As  Mary  stepped  within  the 
door,  she  heard  the  warblings  of  a  pleasing  but  not  very 
powerful  voice  in  the  parlor.  Mr.  Manelli  looked  at  her 
with  a  smile.  The  voice  was  Aspasie's,  whose  gayety  of 
heart  often  thus  found  vent  in  song. 

Aspasie  Manelli  resembled  far  more  her  English  mother 
than  her  Italian  father  in  the  pure  red  and  white  of  her  com- 
plexion, in  a  countenance  ingenuous  and  pleasing,  yet  marked 
rather  by  sturdy  good  sense  than  by  the  sentiment  and  imagin- 
ation that  spoke  in  every  line  of  the  painter's  face.  Her  figure 
was  fine,  and  her  buoyant  movements  seemed  the  result  of 
mental  as  well  as  physical  health.  Father  and  daughter  each 
represented  to  the  other  all  which  links  the  heart  to  family, 
home,  country.  Born  and  educated  in  Italy,  married  in  Eng- 
land, Mr.  Manelli  had  spent  the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life 
in  America.  He  had  many  friends,  for  one  of  such  warm  af- 
fections and  such  benevolence  could  not  fail  to  make  friends  ; 
but  the  death  of  his  wife  had  left  him  with  only  Aspasie  of 
all  the  world  whom  he  could  claim  as  his  own.  Neither  wife 
nor  daiighter  had  been  able  to  sympathize  with  his  lofty  ab- 
stractions, his  beautiful  imaginings ;  but  they  reverenced  in 
him  what  they  did  not  understand.  He  seemed  to  them  to 
belong  to  a  superior  order  of  beings,  and  it  was  their  pride 
and  pleasure  to  free  him,  by  their  diligence  and  good  man- 
agement, from  all  those  cares  which  would  have  interfered 


104  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

with  higher  pursuits,  binding  his  spirit  down  to  earth.  They 
were  at  first  unwilling  that  he  should  engage  in  so  unim- 
aginative an  employment  as  giving  lessons  in  drawing  ;  but 
he  replied  to  their  gentle  dissuasions,  that  it  gave  him  great 
pleasure,  as  he  seldom  met  a  pupil  who  did  not  give  him  a 
lesson  in  the  science  of  mind  while  he  was  taking  one  in  the 
art  of  drawing.  It  will  be  perceived  from  this  that  Mr. 
Manelli  was  a  metaphysician  as  well  as  an  artist. 

Aspasie's  surprise  at  seeing  Mary  was  almost  as  great  as 
her  joy ;  yet  its  ebullition  was  scarcely  over,  when  she  re- 
minded her  father  that  he  would  just  have  time,  with  his 
utmost  speed,  to  fulfil  the  engagement  from  which  his  meet- 
ing with  Mary  had  diverted  him. 

"Dear  Aspasie!  can  nothing  make  you  forget  business?" 
asked  Mr.  Manelli,  with  a  slightly  reproachful  air. 

"  Nothing  makes  me  forget  my  father,"  was  Aspasie's 
reply. 

"  I  believe  it — you  are  a  good  child,  and  I  will  go — but" 
turning  to  Mary,  "  you  will  not  go,  I  hope — you  will  be 
here  when  I  come  back  ?" 

"  Certainly  she  will,"  said  Aspasie ;  "  Mary  would  not 
come  only  to  make  us  a  call  when  we  have  not  seen  her  for 
months — she  will  spend  the  day  with  us,  I  am  sure."  Mary 
assented,  and  Aspasie  continued — "  So  go,  my  father,  you 
will  come  back  to  us  with  a  free  mind,  and  we  will  think  no 
more  of  business  for  the  rest  of  the  day." 

Mr.  Manelli  returned  before  dinner,  and  the  afternoon 
was  given  to  social  enjoyment.  Mary  was  touched  by  the 
kindness  of  her  friends,  and  exeited  herself  to  show  her 
appreciation  of  it;  yet,  as  the  day  advanced  towards  its 
close,  she  often  relapsed  into  revery  from  which  she  stalled 
with  alarm  at  the  sound  of  her  own  name.  Once,  too,  she 
betrayed  a  feeling  which  she  regretted.  Her  old  master 
had  taken  her  to  his  studio,  to  see  a  painting  nearly  com- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  105 

pleted.  The  subject  was  Socrates  drinking  the  hemlock, 
surrounded  by  his  pupils.  Not  caring,  in  his  expression  of 
what  was  true  in  principle,  to  adhere  rigidly  to  historical 
fact,  the  artist  had  enriched  his  picture  by  the  representa- 
tions of  all  the  most  distinguished  disciples  of  the  sage. 
Among  these,  a  youth  of  great  beauty,  whose  face  was 
marked  by  an  ardent,  ingenuous  spirit,  represented  Alci- 
biades  before  he  had  plunged  into  the  dissipation  which 
degraded  his  nature  and  sullied  his  glory.  And  this  face, 
so  pleasing,  so  full  of  reverence  and  a  sorrowful  tenderness, 
was  strikingly  like  Everard  Irving.  Mary,  spite  of  her 
efforts,  returned  again  and  again  to  its  contemplation.  Mr. 
Manelli  observed  this  with  a  smile.  At  length  he  said, 
"  You  see  the  likeness,  I  suspect,  which  my  Aspasie  talks 
of — she  says  Mr.  Irving  might  have  sat  for  my  Alcibiades, 
— but  where  is  Mr.  Irving  ?  I  did  not  think  when  you 
went  away  that  I  should  ever  see  you  separately  again." 

The  blood  rushed  to  Mary's  face,  and  with  a  manner  at 
once  proud  and  cold  she  replied,  "  When  I  last  saw  Mr. 
Irving  he  was  in  New  York." 

The  next  moment  she  remembered  the  artist's  sensitive 
nature,  and  her  heart  smote  her.  She  raised  her  eyes  tim- 
idly to  his  face.  The  smile  of  good-humored  raillery  had 
vanished  from  it,  and  as  he  caught  her  glance,  he  said, 
"Pardon  an  old  man's  foolish  jest,  lady — your  goodness 
makes  me  forget  myself." 

Mary  placed  her  hand  in  his  as  she  said,  pleadingly, 
"  Nay,  it  is  I  who  should  ask  pardon  for  my  abruptness — I 
was  full  of  other  and  sad  thoughts  just  then — Pardon  me," 
she  added  with  a  forced  smile,"  and  I  will  tell  you  news  of 
your  favorite,  Mr.  Irving." 

"  You  need  not  bribe  me,"  said  Mr.  Manelli,  affection- 
ately ;  "  if  you  had  offended  me,  I  could  not  resist  a  single 
word  like  that  pardon  from  you." 


106  CHARMS  AM)  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  Thank  you, — now  you  shall  have  my  news  as  a  free 
gift.  Mr.  Irving  is  engaged  to  the  daughter  of  my  guar- 
dian, Mr.  Beresford.  Her  father  withholds  his  consent  on 
account  of  her  youth ;  but  as  he  is  too  good-natured  to  be 
very  obstinate  in  his  opposition,  you  will  probably,  before 
long,  hear  of  their  marriage." 

"To  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Beresford!"  Mr.  Manelli  ex- 
claimed with  surprise. 

"  Yes — and  if  you  could  see  her,  you  would  not  think  it 
so  astonishing." 

Mary  had  spoken  with  effort.  Mr.  Manelli  did  not  reply, 
and  to  her  great  relief  the  subject  soon  seemed  forgotten. 
But  this  was  only  seeming.  Mr.  Manelli  was  one  who, 
while  he  failed  to  see  the  plainest  manifestations  of  selfish 
and  low  feelings,  perceived  with  remarkable  quickness  the 
movements  of  tender,  and  generous  affections,  and  he  had 
long  been  quite  assured  that  his  young  favorites,  Mary 
Kaymond  and  Everard  Irving,  were  destined  for  each  other. 
He  felt  pained,  perplexed,  that  it  was  not  so.  He  could  not 
withdraw  his  thoughts  from  them,  and  he,  like  Mary,  began 
to  fall  into  reveries.  In  the  evening,  when  deprived  of  the 
stimulus  of  her  company,  he  became  quite  distrait. 

"  Are  you  thinking  over  the  pleasures  of  the  day  ?"  asked 
Aspasie. 

"I  was  thinking  of  our  friend,"  he  replied.  "Sorrow 
has  given  a  tenderness  and  spirituality  to  her  face  which 
make  her  perfectly  lovely." 

The  next  morning  Mary  was  surprised  by  an  early  visit 
from  Mr.  Manelli.  «  She  was  trifling  over  a  piece  of  embroi- 
dery, which  she  laid  aside  at  his  entrance.  After  chatting 
awhile,  he  took  it -up. 

"  It  is  pretty,"  he  said,  "  but  you  can  do  so  much  bettei 
things.  What  are  you  doing  with  the  pencil  and  brush 
now  ?  You  have  not  given  them  up,  I  hope." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  107 

"  It  has  been  long  since  I  have  used  them," 

"  Why  so  ?" 

"  I  have  wanted  both  the  health  and  the  spirits  necessary 
for  such  an  employment." 

"  Spirits  !  you  should  paint  to  get  spirits !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Manelli. 

Mary  smiled  faintly. 

"  You  smile — you  do  not  believe  me,"  he  continued. 
"  Ah  !  if  I  could  tell  you  all  that  painting  has  done  for  rue 
— how  it  has  been  father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  and  of 
late  years,  wife  to  me,  you  would  be  convinced." 

"  I  doubt  not,  sir,  it  has  been  all  this  to  you  who  handle 
the  pencil  of  a  master, — but  I,  you  know,  am  only  a  lover 
of  the  art." 

"  And  it  is  that  very  love  which  gives  it  all  its  power. 
If  you  painted  ever  so  well,  and  your  power  came  from 
practice  only,  or  was  all  taught  by  rule,  I  would  not  speak 
so  to  you ;  but  you  are,  I  know,  a  genuine  lover  of  art — 
you  have  an  eye  and  a  soul  for  the  beautiful,  and  to  paint, 
with  you,  would  be  only  to  leave  a  tendency  of  your  nature 
to  develop  itself  freely." 

Mr.  Manelli  paused,  but  Mary  had  nothing  to  reply,  and 
he  resumed  by  asking — "May  I  tell  you  some  of  my 
thoughts  about  painting  without  danger  of  wearying  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  pray  let  me  hear  them." 

"  A  true  love  for  art  springs,  I  think,  from  a  desire  to 
represent  conceptions,  to  give  expression  to  ideas  for  which 
we  cannot  find  full  utterance  in  words.  These  ideas  are 
elevated  and  spiritual — they  do  not  belong  to  our  time  re- 
lations. In  communion  with  them  we  must  rise  to  their 
sphere,  and  thus  the  true  artist  is  dissevered  from  low  and 
common  things,  and  becomes  elevated,  spiritualized.  I 
have  told  you  how  much  I  owe  to  painting,  and  you 
thought  perhaps — Ah !  that  is  because  he  had  to  .eave 


108  CHARMS  ANI    COUNTER-CHARMS. 

kindred  and  country,  and  become  a  lonely  man, — but  I 
care  not  how  happy  a  man  s  life  may  be,  it  will  not  reach 
his  ideal  of  happiness.  He  will  meet  with  annoyances, 
contradictions,  littlenesses,  that  chafe  and  wound  his  spirit, 
— I  meet  with  such  now ;  but  they  do  not  fret  me  long, 
for  I  go  to  my  room — I  paint — paint — I  surround  myself 
with  the  Beautiful,  which  is  only  the  Good  made  visible — 
my  spirit  goes  out  to  it, — I  love  it~— I  feel  that  my  nature 
was  made  for  it,  and  then  I  remember  that  he  who  has 
wounded  me  and  vexed  me,  was  made  too  for  the  Good 
and  the  Beautiful, — and  if  he  has  lost  his  fellowship  with  it 
I  pity  him,  and  so,  I  forgive  him,  and  all  the  bitterness  and 
the  vexation  passes  from  my  heart.  It  is  thus  that  true  art 
conducts  to  religious  faith.  Through  the  Beautiful  we  are 
brought  into  communion  with  the  Good — " 

Mr.  Manelli  was  here  interrupted  by  a  voice  gently  but 
gravely  pronouncing,  "  There  is  but  one  good,  that  is — " 

"  God,"  said  the  artist.  "  You  are  right,  madam,"  and 
he  turned  to  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  who  had  listened  to  his  re- 
marks with  interest  and  pleasure,  yet  with  some  apprehen- 
sion that  his  views  were  too  mystical  and  vague  to  touch 
the  heart.  "  You  are  right,  madam.  He  is  the  one  abso- 
lutely good — and  thus  the  true  artist  becomes  the  devout 
worshipper.  He  enters  the  temple,"  he  added  with  a  smile, 
"  through  '  the  gate  which  is  called  Beautiful.'  " 

Mrs.  Maclaurin  smiled  too,  but  she  shook  her  head  as 
she  replied,  "  That  is  a  pleasing  tl  ought,  but  I  fear  it 
cannot  be  substantiated.  Surely  the  best  artists  have  not 
been  the  most  devout  men,  and  art  attained  its  highest 
development  with  the  heathen,  and  perhaps  I  might  say 
atheistic  Greeks." 

"  Pardon  me — I  find  I  have  not  quite  clearly  expressed 
my  meaning.  Permit  me  to  explain.  An  artist's  celebrity 
is  sometimes  derived  from  his  mech-  nical  skill  in  expressing, 


CHARMS  AND   COUN1  CR-CHARMS.  109 

it  may  be,  the  conceptions  of  others ;  but,  in  my  opinion, 
it  is  the  noble  conception  wliich  distinguishes  the  true  artist, 
and  a  conception  to  be  noble  must  be  pure — " 

"  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  were  surely  true  artists," 
objected  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  "yet  they — " 

"  Showed  themselves  to  be  but  men,  and  living  in  an  ago 
of  the  utmost  licentiousness  of  manners,  were  not  alto- 
gether free  themselves  from  the  charge ;  but  who  can  look 
at  the  pure  conceptions  of  Raphael  and  not  feel  that  in 
entering  into  debasing  associations  he  must  have  resisted 
more  powerfully  than  most  men  the  tendencies  of  his  na- 
ture ?  The  influence  of  his  art  was  to  make  him  a  wor- 
shipper— the  influence  of  his  age  was  adverse  to  this,  and 
sometimes  prevailed,  for  the  artist  too  is  a  sinful  man  and 
needs  a  Saviour." 

Mrs.  Maclaurin  was  satisfied  with  this  last  observation, 
and  would  have  left  one  of  her  objections  unanswered,  but 
Mary,  who  delighted  to  hear  her  old  master  thus  called 
forth,  asked — "  And  how  do  you  account  for  it  that  the 
heathen,  and  perhaps,  as  Mrs.  Maclaurin  says,  atheistic 
Greeks,  were  the  noblest  artists  the  world  has  ever 
known  ?" 

"  The  inspiration  of  the  artist  is  not  the  inspiration  of 
the  prophet  or  teacher.  The  Grecian  artist,  I  doubt  not, 
worshipped,  but  alas !  it  was  an  unknown  God — the  Chris- 
tian artist  knows  whom  he  worships." 

Neither  Mrs.  Maclaurin  nor  Mary  had  any  further  objec- 
tions to  offer  to  Mr.  Manelli's  views,  and  after  £  moment's 
pause,  he  said — 

"  And  now  I  may  venture  to  make  the  proposal  for 
which  I  commenced  this  long  explanation.  You,  Miss 
Raymond,  are  one  to  whom  this  beautiful  gate  of  the 
temple  of  peace  and  purity  stands  open — do  not  refuse  to 
enter  in.  You  say  you  have  not  painted  for  long — come  to 
10 


110  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

my  studio,  I  will  show  you  engravings  of  some  of  the  finest 
pictures  in  the  world, — you  will  see  something  that  will 
kindle  your  soul,  you  shall  have  it  to  paint.  Paint  there,  if 
you  will,  and  I  will  help  you  on.  By-and-by  you  will  not  need 
to  copy, — you  will  have  confidence  in  yourself,  and  design  for 
yourself, — you  will  become  a  true  artist, — will  you  come  ?" 

It  was  impossible  to  refuse,  and  from  this  day  forward 
Mary  spent  much  time  in  the  artist's  studio.  She  copied 
some  of  his  loveliest  pictures — landscapes  smiling,  full  of  re- 
pose, as  if  sketched  from  the  new-born  earth  ere  its  fair 
scenes  had  received  the  impress  of  sin  or  sorrow — faces 
which  still  reflected  the  light  of  Heaven,  till  her  own  spirit 
caught  something  of  the.  purity  and  peace  with  which  it  was 
conversant,  and  the  little  and  the  selfish  faded  into  indis- 
tinctness, and  a  world  of  beauty,  order,  harmony  arose  be- 
fore her.  Her  religious  faith  taught  her  to  look  for  God 
everywhere,  and  she  found  Him  here.  Were  her  earthly 
affections  less  fervent  ?  No — she  loved  as  warmly,  but  love 
had  acquired  for  her  a  new  significance.  It  was  not  now  the 
strong  desire  to  bind  to  herself  the  object  that  was  felt  to 
be  essential  to  her  own  happiness — at  least  this  was  not  its 
sole  or  even  its  chief  characteristic, — it  was  a  tenderness  too 
deep  for  utterance,  a  desire  too  earnest  for  speech  for  the 
happiness  of  the  objects  of  her  regard.  And  these  objects 
— how  enlarged  was  their  circle !  With  what  a  pitying  eye 
did  she  look  from  the  fair  world  into  which  she  had  found 
entrance,  upon  those  who  were  degraded  by  vice,  darkened  by 
ignorance,  or  oppressed  by  poverty !  Mrs.  Maclaurin  found 
her  more  than  ever  ready  to  aid  her  in  her  charitable  efforts. 

We  have  sketched  rapidly  and  in  a  few  lines  the  changes 
which  were  wrought  by  months  in  Mary's  spirit,  and  we 
will  now  return  to  one  who,  while  she  had  been  rising  above 
earth's  straitened  horizon,  was  treading  a  flowery  but  not 
thornless  path  below— r-to  Evelyn  Beresford. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  Ill 


CHAPTER  VI, 

"  Her  lot  is  on  you — silent  tears  to  weep, 
And  patient  smiles  to  wear  through  suffering's  hour, 
And  sumless  riches,  from  affection's  deep, 
To  pour  on  broken  reeds, — a  wasted  shower ! 
And  to  make  idols  and  to  find  them  clay, 
And  to  bewail  that  worship — therefore  pray !" 

HEMANS. 

MANY  days  passed  after  the  interview  in  which  Euston 
Hastings  had  solicited  the  friendship  of  Evelyn  Beresford, 
and  she  met  him  only  in  the  presence  of  others,  and  received 
from  him  only  those  distant  civilities  which  had  previously 
marked  their  intercourse.  That  interview  became  to  Evelyn 
as  a  dream,  yet  a  dream  on  which  memory  loved  to  linger. 
The  emotions  it  excited  were  something  apart  from  her  com- 
mon life — too  pure,  too  refined  in  their  delight  for  earth's 
daily  food,  yet  were  they  not  free  from  doubts — shadows 
which  passed  as  quickly  as  they  came.  It  was  the  mocking 
tone,  the  sneer  of  Euston  Hastings,  though  never  addressed 
to  her,  which  brought  these  shadows  on  her  soul.  When 
she  saw  them,  the  thought  "  What  if  that  too  were  mock- 
ery !"  would  flash  like  lightning  through  her  brain,  bringing 
with  it  a  pang  bitter  as  death ;  but  one  glance  from  those 
deep,  shadowy  eyes  would  chase  the  pang  away. 

And  where  was  Everard  Irving  while  another  thus  swayed 
the  heart  which  he  fondly  believed  his  own  ?  Rarely  absent 
from  Evelyn's  side,  and  ever  received  with  kindness  and 
with  pleasure,  for  Evelyn's  conscience  accused  her  of  no 
wrong  to  him.  She  had  measured  none  with  Everard  Irving 


112  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

as  a  lover,  and  she  was  assured  he  would  not  desire  to  in- 
terfere with  her  friendship  to  another. 

"  To  whom  are  the  thoughts  which  bring  at  once  smiles 
and  blushes  consecrated,  ma  belle?" 

The  question  and  the  voice  caused  brighter  blushes  to  flit 
over  Evelyn's  face  as  she  started  from  a  revery  so  deep,  that 
the  opening  of  the  door  had  been  unheard,  to  welcome  Eus- 
ton  Hastings.  Once  more  they  were  alone,  and  again  she 
met  the  looks  which  thrilled  her  heart.  Her  eyes  sank  un- 
der his,  and  unable  to  utter  the  greeting  for  which  she  had 
risen,  she  stood  before  him  silent  and  abashed. 

"  Not  a  word  of  welcome  for  me,"  he  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment's enjoyment  of  her  confusion.  "  I  shall  grow  envious 
of  your  lover,  if  words  as  well  as  thoughts  are  reserved  for 
him." 

As  Euston  Hastings  spoke,  he  had  taken  Evelyn's  hand, 
and  drawing  her  to  a  sofa,  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"  Will  you  not  tell  me  that  you  are  a  little  glad  to  see 
me  ?"  he  asked. 

Feeling  that  her  silence  was  becoming  awkward,  Evelyn 
assumed  a  gay  smile  and  repeated  his  own  words,  "  I  am  a 
little  glad  to  see  you." 

"If  you  knew  how  I  had  manoeuvred  to  escape  that 
prating  Frenchwoman,  and  get  here  before  the  time  that 
Estelle  told  me  you  had  engaged  to  drive  out  with  Mr.  Ir- 
ving, you  would  think  I  deserved  that  you  should  be  more 
than  a  little  glad  to  see  me- — but  you  have  not  answered 
my  first  question.  Of  whom  was  that  happy  dream  that  I 
dispelled?" 

Evelyn  answered  not,  except  by  a  more  vivid  blush. 

"  Was  it  of  Mr.  Irving  ?" 

Evelyn  strove  to  withdraw  her  hand  and  turn  away. 

"  Ah  !  I  see  it  was — well,  I  will  try  not  to  envy  him ;" 
and  Euston  Hastings  released  the  hand  that  was  struggling 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  113 

in  his  grasp.  Evelyn  had  not  courage  to  raise  her  eyes  fo 
his  face.  But  a  moment  before  she  had  been  trying  to  free 
her  hand,  and  now  she  did  not  remove  it — she  suffered  it  to 
remain  where  he  had  left  it — she  desired  nothing  so  much 
as  that  he  should  take  it  again.  His  last  words  were  spoken 
in  a  sad  tone.  Could  he  be  displeased  ? — had  she  given 
him  pain  ?  This  thought  gave  her  power  to  speak.  Again 
she  would  have  veiled  her  feelings  under  a  tone  of  gayety, 
but  her  faltering  voice  and  quivering  lip  made  the  effort 
vain. 

"To  aid  you  in  your  resistance  to  such  a  sin  as  envy,  I 
will  acknowledge  my  thoughts  were  not  of  him." 

Euston  Hastings  had  drunk  in  every  emotion  which  mir- 
rored itself  in  that  pure  sweet  face  while  Evelyn  was  silent. 
His  heart  was  beating  quickly,  and  bending  towards  her  till 
his  lips  almost  touched  her  ear,  he  whispered,  "  Were  they 
of  me  ?" 

Evelyn  spoke  not,  stirred  not,  scarcely  breathed.  It  was 
but  a  second,  and  the  door-bell  rang  loudly  and  quickly. 
She  started  to  her  feet,  exclaiming,  "  It  is  Mr.  Irving — I 
know  his  ring — what  shall  I  do?— I  cannot  see  him." 

"  Cannot  see  him  ! — and  why  not  ?"  asked  the  calm  voice 
of  Euston  Hastings,  who  had  already  risen  from  his  seat  and 
moved  away.  "  Do  you  fear  that  Mr.  Irving  will  be  dis- 
pleased because  another  occupies  some  of  your  thoughts,  or 
engages  you  in  conversation  for  a  few  brief  minutes  during 
his  absence  ?  But  you  are  not  yet  prepared  for  your  drive. 
Suppose  you  withdraw  to  your  room,  and  allow  me  to  tell 
him  you  have  gone  to  do  so." 

"  Thank  you — I  will."  And  Evelyn  advanced  to  the 
very  door  at  which  Everard  was  about  to  enter,  but  she  was 
checked  by  Euston  Hastings,  who,  opening  the  door  intf-  *he 
conservatory,  said — 

"  This  way,  and  by  the  private  stairs." 
10* 


114  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Evelyn  obeyed,  and  scarcely  had  she  disappeared  when 
Everard  Irving  entered.  Euston  Hastings  was  lounging  in 
a  rocking-chair. 

"  I  thought  Miss  Beresford  was  here,"  said  Mr.  Irving, 
after  the  first  hurried  greeting.  ", 

"  She  was  when  I  entered,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but  she 
went  to  her  room  to  prepare,  I  understood,  for  a  drive  with 
you." 

Everard  smiled  as  he  looked  at  his  watch,  and  saw  that  it 
wanted  yet  twenty  minutes  to  the  time  of  their  appointment, 
for  he  thought  she  must  have  been  weary  of  her  grave  com- 
panion and  wanted  an  excuse  for  retiring,  or  she  would  not 
have  required  half  that  time  for  her  preparation.  The  twenty 
minutes  however  passed  away  without  her  appearing.  Ever- 
ard became  impatient.  He  rang  the  bell. 

"  Does  Miss  Beresford  know  that  I  am  here  ?" 

"  I  thought  Miss  Beresford  was  in  this  room,  sir." 

"  Let  her  be  informed  now  that  I  am  here,  and  that  the 
sleigh  is  at  the  door." 

This  message  found  Evelyn  still  unprepared  for  her  drive, 
and  when  she  was  cloaked  and  bonneted,  she  yet  lingered. 
She  shrank  with  almost  invincible  repugnance  from  meeting 
Everard  Irving — most  of  all  from  meeting  him  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Euston  Hastings.  The  necessity  of  disguise  was  to 
her  a  new  and  painful  sensation.  Free,  by  the  indulgence 
of  her  father,  from  the  usual  constraints  of  childhood,  she 
had  been  free  likewise  from  the  usual  temptations  to  con- 
cealment. When  Everard  Irving  sought  to  gain  her  promise 
to  be  his,  she  had  told  him,  "  If  I  make  you  this  promise,  I 
must  tell  it  to  my  father  before  I  sleep,"  and  she  had  told 
him  truly  ;  but  now  she  must  wake  a  id  sleep  with  thoughts 
unspoken,  feelings  unconfessed.  Wh  ?n  in  their  first  tete-a- 
tete  Euston  Hastings  had  suggested  sicrecy  respecting  their 
new  relations,  and  she  had  adopted  his  suggestion,  it  had 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  115 

seemed  in  both  but  a  delicate  regard  to  the  feelings  of  others, 
an  aversion  to  cause  the  pain  which  a  possible  error  might 
occasion ;  but  Evelyn  could  no  longer  "  lay  this  flattering 
unction  to  her  soul."  The  wild  terror  with  which  she  had 
heard  the  bell  that  announced  the  approach  of  Everaid  Ir- 
ving had  revealed  to  herself,  and  must  have  betrayed  to 
Euston  Hastings,  that  she  was  now  conscious  of  something 
to  be  concealed  for  her  own  sake.  What  that  something 
was, — why  she  should  suspect  Mr.  Irving,  gentle  and  gener- 
ous as  he  had  ever  seemed,  of  being  offended  by  her  friend- 
ship for  another,  a  friendship,  too,  so  refined,  so  sublimated, 
— why  she  should  even  shrink  from  avowing  it  to  her  father, 
to  Mrs.  Mabury — these  were  questions  she  did  not  ask  her- 
self, or  if  she  did,  she  could  obtain  from  her  heart  no  intelli- 
gible answer. 

The  snow  reflecting  back  in  dazzling  brightness  an  un- 
clouded sun,  the  bells  of  many  sleighs  ringing  merrily  out 
on  the  still  though  frosty  air,  and  the  gay  voices  of  com- 
panions, 

"  Playful  as  Peris  just  loosed  from  their  cages," 

who  were  going,  by  Mr.  Beresford's  invitation,  to  spend  a  day 
with  Evelyn  in  her  own  home — all  these  promoters  of  cheer- 
fulness failed  to  make  her  cheerful.  She  laughed,  it  is  true, 
more  loudly,  and  talked  more  rapidly  than  usual ;  there  were 
times  even  when  a  strange  joy  thrilled  her  nerves,  but  the 
serene,  unclouded  gladness  of  her  past  life  was  hers  no  lon- 
ger. She  had  tasted  of  "  the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good 
and  evil,"  and  the  gates  of  Paradise  were  about  to  close  on 
her  forever.  Hitherto  existence  had  been  a  joy  to  her — 
she  had  been  happy  without  a  care  for  happiness ;  but 
henceforth,  "  the  fruit  she  gathered  would  be  of  the  trees 
she  planted." 

And  Euston  Hastings — was  he  wholly  indifferent  to  the 


116  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARM^. 

game  he  was  playing  ?  It  had  been  commenced  by  him  in 
the  gay  caprice  of  an  idler ;  but,  to  his  own  surprise,  he 
was  becoming  deeply  interested  in  it.  Beginning  life  with 
advantages  of  intellect,  fortune,  position,  surpassed  by  few, 
he  had  yet  wanted  the  gift  that  would  have  made  all  these 
available  to  high  purposes — the  gift  of  faith — faith  in  the 
Holy,  whether  within  man  or  above  him — faith  in  the  Eter- 
nal— and  all  his  advantages  were  consecrated  to  the  earthly 
and  the  selfish.  He  had  too  little  respect  for  his  fellow- 
men  greatly  to  desire  their  applause.  It  was  not  at  the 
shrine  of  ambition,  therefore,  but  of  pleasure  that  he  pros- 
trated himself.  Excitement — the  excitement  on  whose 
wings  the  leaden  hours  of  life  might  be  borne  rapidly  away, 
this  was  the  object  of  his  eager  search.  His  nature  was  of 
too  intellectual  a  cast,  his  tastes  too  refined,  to  permit  him  to 
seek  it  in  the  grossly  sensual ;  but  to  awaken  the  mind  and 
interest  the  heart  of  woman,  to  see  the  ardent  nature  yield- 
ing to  his  influence,  and  the  proud  spirit  striving  in  vain  to 
escape  his  sway,  these  were  the  triumphs  in  which  he  de- 
lighted. 

In  Mrs.  Mabury  alone  Euston  Hastings  had  found  his 
equal  in  the  arts  of  coquetry,  and  to  her  he  had  devoted 
himself  for  the  unprecedented  period  of  four  years.  She 
had  declared  that  nothing  should  induce  her  again  to  cir- 
cumscribe her  freedom  by  the  bonds  of  marriage,  and  from 
that  moment  to  win  her  as  his  wife  had  been  his  perse- 
vering effort.  Mrs.  Mabury  understood  both  him  and 
herself  too  well  to  yield  to  his  persuasions,  and  as  he 
despaired  of  success  he  wearied  of  pursuit.  Yet  habit 
still  attached  him  to  her  side,  when  new  circumstances 
came  to  give  something  of  the  power  of  novelty  to  her 
charms.  Never  had  her  versatility  of  talent  and  her  grace- 
ful abandon  of  manner  seemed  to  him  so  fascinating,  as  when 
seen  on  the  sombre  groundwork  of  American  society.  Mrs. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  117 

Mabury,  who  well  understood  his  tastes,  little  feared  a  rival 
in  an  American  woman — "  bound  in,"  as  she  would  have 
said,  "  by  dull  proprieties  forever."  Least  of  all  did  she  ex- 
pect to  find  one  in  Evelyn  Beresford,  whose  girlish  simplicity 
of  character  and  »anner  would,  she  believed,  be  considered 
the  extreme  of  insipidity  by  one  who  sought  in  a  companion 
an  antidote  to  ennui.  With  woman's  almost  intuitive  per- 
ception into  character,  she  had  seen  in  Evelyn  feelings — 
"  Fresh  as  the  fountain  under  ground, 

When  first  'tis  by  the  lapwing  found," 

and  an  ardent,  unquestioning  devotion  to  the  objects  of  her 
love,  which  might  have  won  some  sympathy  from  an  an- 
chorite ;  but  she  did  not  believe  that  Euston  Hastings 
would  approach  sufficiently  near.to  one  so  unpretending  to 
feel  their  charm.  In  forming  this  opinion  Mrs.  Mabury  had 
forgotten  how  often  the  accidents  of  life,  or  those  unfore- 
seen circumstances  which  we  call  accidents,  bring  us  into 
unsought  positions,  and  make  to  us  unexpected  revelations. 
Such  had  been  to  Euston  Hastings  and  Evelyn  the  accident 
of  his  momentary  assumption  of  the  Ivanhoe  to  her  Rowena. 

Many  had  smiled  good-humoredly  at  her  evident  preference 
of  Everard  Irving  to  all  others  in  the  character  of  her  lover, 
but  Euston  Hastings  had  sneered. 

"  A  pretty  piece  of  feminine  acting,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury ;  "  Mr.  Irving  is  its  dupe,  as  every  man  is  of  woman  at 
some  period  of  his  life.  Let  another  but  throw  into  the 
personation  of  her  lover  enough  of  nature,  and  the  coquetry 
will  be  unveiled." 

Mrs.  Mabury,  with  truer  knowledge  of  her  sex,  shook  her 
head,  and  Euston  Hastings,  piqued  at  her  incredulity,  had 
been  nothing  loth  to  try  the  experiment  at  the  call  of  Ma- 
dame L'Egare.  We  have  seen  the  result.  Evelyn  had  fled 
from  him,  Mrs.  Mabury  had  triumphed,  and  Euston  Hast- 
ings had  said  nothing  of  the  one  brief  moment  in  which  hor 


118  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

eyes  had  rested  on  him,  and  he  had  read  or  fancied  an  im- 
passioned nature  slumbering  in  their  depths.  Everard  Ir- 
ving's  exultation  moved  his  mockery,  for  he  thought  that 
the  fear  with  which  Evelyn  fled  from  the  scene,  was  not  so 
much  dread  of  him,  as  the  shrinking  of  a^usceptible  nature 
from  the  new  sensations  that  his  looks  and  words  had 
awakened.  There  was  just  enough  of  doubt  in  these  indi- 
cations to  give  zest  to  another  experiment.  That  experiment 
was  made,  but  he  was  careful  now  not  to  alarm.  Gentle, 
unexacting,  tender,  love  wore  the  mask  of  friendship,  and 
as  such  was  received  without  apprehension.  To  wake  that 
slumbering  nature  into  life,  to  see  that  ardent  heart  yield 
itself  unquestioning] y  to  his  sway,  was  to  Euston  Hastings  a 
new  and  exquisite  pleasure.  Over  one  so  guileless,  so  con- 
fiding, that  she  accepted  without  a  doubt .  the  name  by 
which  he  chose  to  interpret  her  sensations,  no  coquetry 
piqued  him  to  triumph  ;  and  as  he  watched  her  fluctuating 
color,  saw  the  trembling  of  her  downcast  lids,  and  the  soft 
smile  that  played  around  her  lovely  lips,  somewhat  of  gen- 
uine feeling  awoke  within  him  and  prompted  him  to  fold 
her  to  his  bosom  as  his  own,  but  the  feeling  was  not  suffi- 
ciently powerful  to  overcome  the  resistance  offered  by  the 
whole  current  of  his  being.  He  would  not  hazard  the  obser- 
vation which  frequent  private  interviews  with  Evelyn  would 
have  drawn  on  him  ;  but  in  her  presence,  even  when  seem- 
ingly most  inattentive  to  her,  not  a  shadow  passed  over  her 
brow,  not  an  emotion  expressed  itself  in  the  transparent 
mirror  of  her  face  which  he  did  not  read,  and  well  he  knew 
to  whom  the  smiles  and  blushes  of  that  sweet  dream  which 
he  had  broken  were  consecrated. 

And  Evelyn's  whole  life  became  now  indistinct  and  aim- 
less as  a  dream.  The  new  sentiment  with  which  she  had 
been  inspire  1  by  Euston  Hastings,  was  like  the  introduction 
into  a  piece  of  music  of  some  inharmonious  note  from  an  in- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  119 

strument  of  exquisite  sweetness  of  tone — delightful  in  itself, 
it  had  produced  the  most  painful  discord  in  her  heart.  Even 
in  her  father's  arms  she  felt  its  influence — it  had  drawn  a 
veil  between  their  hearts.  It  had  destroyed  the  charm  of 
her  intercourse  with  Mrs.  Mabury.  Wherefore  this  was, 
Evelyn  knew  not,  perhaps  she  sought  not  to  know ;  she 
only  felt  that  under  an  earnest  look  from  Mrs.  Mabury  her 
cheeks  crimsoned  and  her  heart  throbbed  with  undefined 
fear,  and  that  those  t^te-a-tites,  once  so  valued,  in  which 
Mrs.  Mabury  had  seemed  to  look  into  her  heart  only  that 
she  might  know  how  best  to  please  and  to  delight  her, 
were  now  avoided.  But  most  of  all  had  this  new  sentiment 
disturbed  the  repose  of  her  relations  with  Everard  Irving. 
Alone  with  him,  she  became  silent  and  depressed ;  in  society, 
she  plunged  with  reckless  gayety  into  the  amusements  of 
the  hour,  and  welcomed  attentions  which  she  had  hitherto 
avoided,  that  she  might  evade  those  gentle,  quiet  cares  that 
mark  the  lover's  devotion.  Everard  Irving  saw  and  suffered 
from  her  change ;  yet  it  was  of  a  nature  to  be  felt  rather 
than  defined,  it  was  a  shadow  which  darkened  his  path,  but 
presented  nothing  tangible  to  his  grasp.  Not  for  a  moment 
was  his  jealousy  excited  by  any  of  the  flutterers  with  whom 
she  laughed  so  gayly  or  danced  and  sung  so  readily,  for 
even  a  lover's  sharpened  perception  could  detect  no  prefer- 
ence of  any  one  among  them,  could  find  no  token  of  the 
heart's  presence  in  laugh  or  dance  or  song.  Euston  Hast- 
ings rarely  approached  her  when  he  was  present,  indeed 
rarely  of  his  own  choice  did  he  approach  her  at  all  in  so- 
ciety ;  yet  neither  did  he  seem  to  avoid  her,  and  if  by  acci- 
dent they  were  thrown  together,  his  manner  was  grave 
though  kind,  and  Evelyn's  embarrassment,  if  observed  at 
all,  appeared  but  girlish  diffidence  of  one  with  whom  per- 
sons older  and  more  assured  than  herself  often  felt  not 
quite  at  ease.  But  a  skilful  manoeuverer,  and  thoroug'dy 


120  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

aufait  of  Mrs.  Mabury's  habits  and  those  of  her  household, 
Euston  Hastings  found  little  difficulty  in  securing  to  himself 
at  pleasure  a  few  moments  alone  with  Evelyn.  Again  and 
again,  in  such  interviews,  did  he  present  to  her  lip  that  in- 
toxicating draught  which,  elevating  her  above  the  circle  of 
common  life,  rendered  her  forgetful  alike  of  its  cares  and 
its  obligations.  Still  his  language  was  that  of  friendship. 
He  was  the  friend  of  her  soul,  while  Everard  Irving  was 
recognised  as  her  lover,  connected  to  her  by  ties  less  refined, 
less  spiritual  than  those  by  which  he  desired  to  link  his 
being  to  hers.  More  than  once  had  Euston  Hastings  felt 
the  hand  he  held  grow  cold,  and  seen  the  heart's  sudden 
pang  throw  its  shadow  over  Evelyn's  face,  at  these  allusions 
to  her  engagement  with  another.  Such  emotion  was  costly 
incense  offered  at  his  shrine,  which  for  one  moment  he  would 
enjoy  with  sensations  of  the  most  exquisite  delight,  and 
then  obliterate  its  very  memory  by  some  look,  or  movement, 
or  whispered  word,  bearing  within  it  the  very  heart  of  love. 
But  there  were  times  in  his  absence  when  Evelyn  could  re- 
call only  the  faint  image  of  that  look  or  movement,  the 
fainter  echo  of  that  word,  when  her  reason  cast  off  their 
spell  and  showed  her  an  abyss  opening  at  her  feet.  But 
though  she  shrank  back  appalled  from  the  vision,  it  was  but 
a  moment,  and  the  next,  closing  her  eyes  to  all  danger,  she 
was  rushing  forward  on  the  same  path,  yielding  unresist- 
ingly to  her  destiny. 

Destiny  !  poor  blind,  with  which  man  hoodwinks  his  own 
reason.  In  the  physical  world  we  adore,  we  joyfully  avail 
ourselves  of  those  fixed  laws  which  unerring  Wisdom  and 
unwavering  Love  have  established.  The  same  Wisdom  and 
the  same  Love  have  established  laws  as  certain  in  the  moral 
world ;  our  passions  rise  up  in  opposition  to  them,  we 
choose  rather  to  suffer  their  penalty  than  to  obey  them,  and 
this  we  call  yielding  to  our  destiny.  Yet  true  it  is  that  we 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  121 

are  social  beings,  and  weave  not  alone  the  tissue  of  our 
lives  ;  that  the  threads  of  other  men's  fortunes  are  often 
intertwined  with  ours ;  and  that  circumstances  over  which 
we  had  no  control — the  natures  we  inherit,  our  early  nurture, 
a  thousand  nameless  considerations — increase  or  diminish,  in 
an  almost  incalculable  degree,  the  difficulties  attending  our 
conformity  to  law,  whether  moral  or  physical.  But  it  is 
only  by  a  strange  perversion  that  these  truths  can  lead  us 
to  a  self-indulgent  passiveness.  Extending  the  sphere  of  our 
respon&.bility,  increasing  the  difficulties  of  our  progress — 
their  legitimate  result  would  be  more  vigorous  and  perse- 
vering effort. 

Evelyn  Beresford  inherited  a  nature  full  of  all  sweet  and 
endearing  qualities.  Her.  temper  was  gentle,  her  affections 
ardent,  and  surrounded  from  infancy  by  the  pure  and  ten- 
der influences  of  a  father's  love,  she  had  walked  blamelessly 
and  joyously  along  her  sunlit  path.  Now,  darkness  was 
around  her,  and  the  very  impulses  which  had  hitherto  led 
her  in  safety,  were  tempting  her  into  dangerous  ways.  With 
what  weapons  had  she  been  furnished  for  their  resistance  ? 

To  please  the  objects  of  her  affection ;  to  sacrifice  herself 
to  them  ;  to  make  her  life  a  ministry  of  love,  demanding  only 
love  as  its  repayment — these  were  her  principles  of  action. 
How  often  are  they  the  only  principles  with  which  woman 
is  sent  forth  to  her  combat  with  the  powers  of  earth !  The 
distinction  made  by  Milton  between  our  first  parents,  seems 
to  be  recognised  as  just  by  their  descendants.  Man  is 
taught  to  draw  his  motives  from  above,  from  the  Heavenly 
— to  live  "for  God  only;"  while  from  her  very  cradle 
woman's  heart  is  linked  to  earth  as  the  source  of  her  mo- 
tives, hopes,  rewards,  and  if  she  lives  for  God,  it  is  "for 
God  in"  some  earthly  object. 

While  such  important  changes  were  occurring  in  Evelyn's 
inner  life,  the  outward  was  all  serenity.  Month  after  month 
11 


122  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

had  glided  by,  and  Mrs.,  Mabury's  persuasions,  seconded  by 
what  Mr.  Beresford  believed  the  unspoken  wishes  of  Evelyn, 
had  still  induced  him  to  delay  the  period  of  her  return  home. 
It  was  now  the  middle  of  March ;  he  had  declared  himself 
unable  to  do  without  her  longer,  and  the  day  was  appoint- 
ed for  her  return.  That  day  had  been  announced  in  the 
presence  of  Euston  Hastings,  yet  no  word  or  even  glance 
evinced  his  interest  in  it.  Day  by  day  Evelyn  hoped,  and 
hoped  in  vain,  that  he  would  break  this  strange  silence.  The 
last  day  but  one  had  arrived,  and  through  its  lingering  hours 
she  looked  and  listened  for  him  with  nervous  anxiety.  He 
came  not;  and  when  she  descended  to  the  parlor  in  the 
evening,  prepared  to  accompany  Mrs.  Mabury  to  a  gay 
party,  her  cheek  was  pale,  her  eyes  dim,  and  her  move- 
ments languid.  Euston  Hastings  was  there,  and  never  in  her 
most  brilliant  moments  had  she  interested  him  so  deeply, 
for  in  her  altered  appearance  he  recognised  his  own  power. 
There  was  no  time  now  for  speech  even  had  he  desired  it, 
but  in  handing  Evelyn  into  the  carriage,  his  lingering  pres- 
sure of  her  hand  awoke  the  hope  which  was  well-nigh  dead 
within  her ; — so  slowly  and  reluctantly  does  the  heart  relin- 
quish its  faith  in  the  truth  of  that  which  it  earnestly  desires. 
They  were  late,  and  the  rooms  were  already  filled. 

"  Stay,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury,  as  Euston  Hastings  offered 
her  his  arm,  "  three  in  a  line  will  never  make  their  way 
through  such  a  crowd.  Take  charge  of  Miss  Beresford,  and 
I  will  find  an  escort  among  those  old  gentlemen  before  us." 

Evelyn's  hand  rested  on  the  arm  of  Euston  Hastings,  and 
was  pressed  gently  to  his  side,  while  a  single  glance  told  his 
pleasure  in  the  arrangement,  and  noted  the  flushing  of  her 
cheek  and  the  sudden  sparkle  of  her  eye.  It  was  but  a  mo- 
ment. Evelyn's  nerves  were  yet  thrilling  beneath  that  gen- 
tle pressure,  when  Mrs.  Mabury  exclaimed,  "  Here  comes 
Mr.  Irving — you  must  relinquish  Miss  Beresford  to  him." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  123 

Everard,  who  had  been  hesitating  whether  he  should  offer 
the  escort  that  had  been  so  coldly  accepted  of  late,  now  ap- 
proached. With  a  few  courteous  words  to  him,  and  a  sigh 
nicely  modulated  for  Evelyn's  ear  alone,  Euston  Hastings 
resigned  his  place,  and  they  entered  the  room.  Dancing 
had  already  commenced. 

"  Will  you  join  the  cotillion  which  is  just  forming  ?" 
asked  Everard  Irving  of  Evelyn,  after  their  salutation  to  their 
hostess  had  been  made. 

Her  manner  was  more  than  cold, — he  almost  thought  it 
sullen  as  she  replied,  "  I  do  not  think  I  shall  dance  this 
evening — certainly  not  in  this  set ;  but  do  not  let  me  detain 
you :  I  will  join  Mrs.  Mabury,  if  you  please."  And  advan- 
cing towards  that  lady,  she  withdrew  her  arm  from  Everard's 
and  passed  it  through  hers. 

Mrs.  Mabury  turned  to  her  with  evident  surprise,  asking, 
"  Do  you  not  dance  ?" 

Everard  lingered  for  her  answer,  but  without  glancing 
towards  him  she  replied,  "  No,"  and  he  darted  off,  and  was 
soon  among  the  dancers,  though  with  a  spirit  little  accordant 
with  the  gay  scene. 

Relieved  from  Everard  Irving's  presence,  the  shadow 
passed  from  Evelyn's  brow  and  the  coldness  from  her  man- 
ner. Through  the  whole  of  that  day  her  mind  had  been 
occupied  with  the  one  desire  of  seeing  Euston  Hastings,  of 
hearing  from  him  some  of  those  tender  words  which  make  a 
friend's  farewell  not  all  sorrowful,  of  receiving  some  promise 
which  should  shed  the  light  of  hope  over  the  future.  Dis- 
appointment, doubt  had  converted  this  desire  into  a  pas- 
sionate longing ;  and  at  the  moment  in  which  accident 
seemed  to  render  its  partial  fulfilment  possible,  Everard  Ir- 
ving's approach  had  blasted  her  hopes,  and  irrational  as  it 
may  seem,  that  approach  was  resented  as  an  injury,  and 
added  active  displeasure  to  the  dissatisfaction  which  his 


124  CHARMS  AND   COUNTER-CHARMS. 

presence  had  long  caused  her.  Thus  had  one  false  senti- 
ment, unresisted  by  principle,  overborne  the  feeble  barrier 
of  opposing  impulses,  and  obscured  the  moral  perceptions 
of  Evelyn.  But  her  nature  was  too  gentle  to  entertain  an- 
gry emotion  long,  and  the  object  of  her  displeasure  being 
removed,  her  accustomed  serenity  soon  returned.  Some  of 
her  young  acquaintances  approached,  admirers  gathered 
around  them,  and  soon  she  stood  the  centre  of  a  joyous 
circle  ;  and  her  gay  tones  and  light  laugh,  musical  as  they 
were,  rang  painfully  on  Everard's  ear  as  the  movements  of 
the  dance  brought  him  in  her  neighborhood,  increasing  the 
irritation  which  her  manner  had  already  caused. 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  music,  and  some  of  the  dancers 
retired  from  the  floor.  Mr  Clayton,  a  young  gentleman 
whose  agreeable  manners  and  sprightly  conversation  made 
him  a  general  favorite,  invited  Evelyn  to  dance. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  ought,"  she  said,  hesitatingly. 
"  Mr.  Irving  asked  me  to  dance  when  we  first  entered,  and 
I  declined." 

"  I  cannot  relinquish  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  you  for 
so  slight  a  cause.  I  will  bring  Mr.  Irving,  and  I  am  sure 
he  will  grant  you  absolution  for  no  more  severe  penance 
than  dancing  with  him  when  you  have  fulfilled  your  engage- 
ment with  me." 

Mr.  Clayton  would  have  gone  to  Everard,  but  Evelyn 
stopped  him.  To  appeal  to  him  was  an  act  of  deference 
which  she  felt  just  then  little  disposed  to  pay.  "  Stay,  Mr. 
Clayton,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  need  not  trouble  yourself — I 
only  said  I  did  not  think  I  should  dance." 

"  Oh !  if  that  was  all,  you  are  completely  exonerated," 
said  Mr.  Clayton,  as  he  led  her  out.  "  You  have  been  in 
the  room  foi  half  an  hour  at  least,  and  to  hold  the  same 
opinion  for  that  time  would  be  a  masculine  assumption  that 
would  greatly  detract  from  your  charms." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  125 

A  playful  conversation  followed,  which  for  a  few  minutes 
•withdrew  Evelyn's  observation  from  the  movements  around 
her.  It  ceased,  and  looking  up,  she  saw,  immediately  he- 
fore  her,  Everard  Irving.  His  eyes  were  fixed  steadfastly 
upon  her,  and  as  her  face  flushed  beneath  his  gaze,  a  smile 
of  angry  disdain  curled  his  lip.  Again  and  again,  while 
seeming  to  listen  to  the  gay  observations  of  her  partner, 
Evelyn's  eyes  were  turned  involuntarily,  as  if  by  some  strange 
fascination,  to  that  haughty  brow,  and  still  they  met  that 
fixed  and  angry  gaze.  Could  this  be  the  gentle  and  playful 
Everard  Irving,  whose  very  indulgence  and  submission  to 
her  caprices  had  prevented  his  gaining  from  her  that  vener- 
ation which  is  with  woman  an  essential  element  of  love  ? 
With  a  sensation  of  dread  Evelyn  felt  rather  than  saw  that 
he  was  approaching  her.  But  when  he  spoke,  his  tones 
were  calm,  and  there  seemed  little  to  excite  apprehension  in 
his  words. 

"  Permit  me,"  said  he,  "  to  congratulate  you  on  your 
change  of  resolution,  Miss  Beresford.  I  understood  you 
would  not  dance  this  evening." 

Rallying  her  spirits,  Evelyn  answered  hurriedly,  "  I  said 
I  did  not  think  I  should.  It  is  a  woman's  privilege,  you 
know,  to  change  her  mind." 

"  A  very  valuable  privilege  sometimes — I  hope  you  do 
not  suspect  me.  of  any  desire  to  interfere  with  your  exercise 
of  it.  On  the  contrary,  I  advise  you  to  guard  it  well — you 
may  find  more  important  occasions  for  its  use  than  the 
present." 

Evelyn's  heart  swelled  indignantly,  but  painful,  humilia- 
ting consciousness  checked  her  speech  and  dyed  her  cheeks 
with  blushes.  Had  she  known  that  the  jealousy  which  had 
given  such  unusual  severity  to  Everard  had  found  its  object 
in  Mr.  Clayton,  she  might  have  been  more  bold  in  repelling 
his  attack. 

11* 


C1IARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


Mr.  Clayton,  believing  with  the  rest  of  the  world  in  her 
attachment  and  engagt  nent  to  Everard,  and  supposing  his 
anger  to  have  been  sole.y  excited  by  her  declining  to  dance 
with  him  and  accepting  the  invitation  of  another,  was  in- 
dignant at  his  harshness,  and  pretending  to  whisper,  but 
really  meaning  his  words  more  for  Everard's  ear  than  he«rs, 
said,  "Pray,  Miss  Beresford,  take  Mr.  Irving's  advice,  and 
permit  me  to  profit  by  the  exercise  of  your  sex's  privilege  on 
those  more  important  occasions,  as  I  do  on  this." 

Everard  "Irving's  eyes  flashed  in  angry  inquiry  on  the 
speaker,  and  were  met  by  a  countenance  of  careless  de- 
fiance ;  but  the  music  recommenced,  and  reminded  by  it 
how  unfit  were  both  the  time  and  the  place  for  the  prose- 
cution of  a  quarrel,  he  returned  to  his  place. 

Miss  Beresford's  flirtation  and  Mr.  Irving's  anger  were 
the  favorite  topics  of  the  evening  ;  and  when  Mr.  Clayton, 
at  the  breaking  up  of  the  party,  proffered  those  attentions 
to  Clara  Wendall  which  it  had  long  been  one  of  his  chief 
pleasures  to  pay  and  of  hers  to  receive,  they  were  rejected 
with  a  proud,  cold  look  that  would  have  sent  him  from  her 
side,  had  he  not  noticed  that  her  face  was  pale,  and  that 
the  hand  with  which  she  was  tying  her  bonnet  trembled  so 
as  to  render  the  task  well-nigh  impossible. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Clara  ?"  he  whispered. 

A  single  glance  of  keen  reproach  was  her  only  direct  re- 
ply, but  turning  from  the  look  of  surprise  with  which  he 
met  her  eye,  she  said,  "  You  are  remiss,  Mr.  Clayton,  Miss 
Beresford  waits  for  her  shawl,"  and  her  lover  felt  that  the 
mystery  was  explained. 

"Would  you  advise  me,"  he  asked,  with  a  lightened  heart, 
"  to  run  the  risk  a  second  time  in  the  same  evening  of  a 
pistol-shot  from  Mr.  Irving,  with  little  prospect  of  being 
rewarded  for  my  boldness  by  any  gratitude  from  Miss 
Beresford?" 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  127 

"  Well,  if  no  one  else  will  employ  you,  I  suppose  I  must, 
so  take  charge  of  that  bouquet  for  me." 

But  it  was  not  only  Clara  Wendall's  heart  which  those 
light  words  and  his  lighter  tone  had  set  at  rest.  Everard 
Irving  had  heard  enough  of  them,  as  he  stood  for  a  moment 
pressed  by  a  crowd  against  the  doorway  of  the  ladies' 
dressing-room,  to  satisfy  him  that  his  jealousy  of  Mr.  Clay- 
ton was  unfounded ;  and  his  generous  nature,  convicted  of 
injustice  in  one  respect,  was  ready  to  take  blame  to  itself  in 
all — at  least,  to  feel  that  Evelyn's  caprice  was  more  pardon- 
able than  his  harshness.  Indignation  gave  place  to  sorrow, 
and  he  would  even  then  have  sought  her  forgiveness  could 
he  have  made  his  way  to  her,  but  before  it  was  possible  to 
do  so  he  saw  her  led  to  her  carriage  by  Euston  Hastings. 

"  Why,  Eva,  what  an  arrant  coquette  you  have  become  !" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Mabury,  when  they  met  at  breakfast  the 
next  morning.  "  Your  flirtation  with  Mr.  Clayton  was  quite 
the  talk  last  evening ;  but  you  must  play  your  game  cau- 
tiously, ma  belle,  or  you  will  have  him  and  Mr.  Irving»hand- 
ling  pistols  and  daggers  instead  of  only  looking  them  as 
they  did  last  night." 

"  I  am  quite  innocent  of  any  flirtation,"  said  Evelyn,  stri- 
ving to  speak  carelessly,  "  and  if  I  were  guilty  I  do  not  see 
how  that  could  furnish  the  gentlemen  you  name  with  a 
reason  for  handling,  or  even  for  looking  pistols  and  daggers." 

"  Reason !  an  angry  man  rarely  waits  for  that,  and  a 
lover  who  sees  himself  slighted  for  another  seldom  fails  to 
find  or  make  a  good  excuse  for  challenging  his  rival ;  but 
you  need  not  turn  so  pale,  Eva,  lovers'  quarrels  have  not 
generally  a  very  fatal  termination,  and  before  the  morning 
is  past  yours  and  Mr.  Irving's  will,  I  dare  say,  be  brought 
to  a  conclusion  without  either  pistol  or  dagger." 

Mrs.  Mabury's  raillery  did  not  tend  to  restore  Evelyn's 
equanimity.  She  smiled  but  faintly,  and  was  so  silent  and 


128  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

seemingly  abstracted,  that  Mrs  Mabury  at  last  exclaimed, 
"  What  is  the  matter,  Eva  ?  Are  you  thinking  how  you 
shall  receive  Mr.  Irving  and  make  the  amende  to  him  ? 
Shall  I  give  you  a  lesson  in  the  art  of  getting  skilfully 
out  of  a  fracas  ?" 

"  If  you  please,  it  may  serve  me  at  some  future  time." 

"  Different  modes  must  be  adopted  with  different  characters, 
but  that  which  I  consider  most  generally  successful,  is  the 
Roman  mode  of  warfare,  carrying  the  war  into  the  enemy's 
country.  Woman's  wits  are  like  the  light-horse  of  an  army, 
which  go  flying  hither  and  thither  at  a  moment's  warning — 
man's  are  the  heavy  infantry,  which  require  time  to  form 
themselves  and  prepare  for  an  assault ;  and  I  like  nothing 
so  well  as  dashing  in  among  them  when  they  are  least  ex- 
pecting an  attack,  throwing  them  into  confusion  and  winning 
the  victory  before  they  can  strike  a  blow." 

"  But  do  you  always  win  the  victory  ?"  asked  Evelyn, 
endeavoring  to  seem  amused. 

"  Oh,  no !  there  are  some  natures,  though  very  few, 
which  stand  such  assaults  unmoved ;  these  may  be  melted 
by  your  tears,  or,  if  you  find  that  too  difficult,  you  must 
play  La  Capricieuse  so  gracefully  as  to  make  them  in  love 
with  your  tyranny — sporting  with  their  complaints,  laughing 
at  their  remonstrances,  and  mimicking  their  frowns.  But, 
hist !  here  comes  one  of  the  lordly  race,  and  we  must  not 
let  them  into  our  tactics." 

The  new  comer  was  Mr.  Beresford. 

"  Not  come  for  Evelyn  already,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mabury 
as  he  entered. 

"  No,  I  hope  to  persuade  you  to  accompany  Evelyn  and 
spend  her  first  day  at  home  with  her,  and  if  you  do  so,  I 
will  come  for  her  at  any  hour  you  shall  appoint ;  but  now  I 
want  your  opinion  of  my  new  carriage,"  and  Mr.  Beresford 
Jed  Mrs.  Mabury  to  the  window.  The  carriage  received  her 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  129 

unqualified  approval,  and  elicited  exclamations   of  delight 
from  Evelyn. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it,  Eva,  for  it  is  yours ;  and  I  am 
now  in  search  of  a  pair  of  horses  for  you.  The  old  grays 
suit  the  old  carriage  and  an  old  man  well  enough,  but  you 
will  want  a  gayer-looking  pair,  though  they  must  be  gentle 
too." 

"  If  you  are  going  to  purchase  horses,  Mr.  Beresford, 
you  must  take  Mr.  Hastings  with  you ;  a  few  minutes'  ac- 
quaintance is  sufficient  to  make  him  au  fait  of  their  merits 
and  demerits,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury. 

"  Ah  !  I  shall  certainly  then  endeavor  to  obtain  his  opinion 
of  a  pair  that  were  offered  me  yesterday ;  but  where  shall  I 
find  him  at  this  hour  ?" 

"  Oh !  at  Bunker's.  He  is  doubtless  still  playing  the 
coquette  between  his  coffee  and  the  morning  paper." 

"  Then  I  will  call  there  at  once — I  hope  he  will  make 
one  of  our  party  to-day.  By-the-by,  you  have  not  told  me 
at  what  hour  I  shall  call  for  you." 

"  I  have  not  yet  said  that  I  would  go  '  said  Mrs.  Mabury 
with  a  smile. 

"  But  you  have  not  refused." 

"  And  you  will  not  refuse,"  added  Evelyn  pleadingly. 

"I  can  not  refuse  any  thing  that  you  ask  so  earnestly 
Eva." 

Evelyn  colored  at  the  thought  of  the  mingled  motives 
which  induced  her  earnestness,  while  Mr.  Beresford  said 
smilingly  to  her,  "  Well,  Eva,  should  Mr.  Irving  call  while 
I  am  away,  try  if  you  are  as  irresistible  with  him ;  I  wil . 
ensure  the  company  of  Mr.  Hastings  by  laying  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury's  commands  on  him,  and  we  will  be  here — at  what 
hour  ?"  appealing  again  to  Mrs.  Mabury. 

"At  any  hour  you  please  I  will  be  ready  for  you,"  was 
her  reply. 


130  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"Eleven  o'clock,"  said  Mr.  Beresford,  looking  at  his 
watch  ;  "  as  Mr.  Hastings  is  so  rapid  in  his  judgment,  and 
I  intend  to  be  wholly  governed  by  him,  you  may  expect  us 
at  twelve." 

With  a  nervous  impatience,  which  arose  almost  as  much 
from  her  fear  of  seeing  Everard  Irving  as  from  her  hope 
that  Euston  Hastings  would  accompany  her  father,  Evelyn 
•was  soon  seated  at  a  window  overlooking  the  street,  seem- 
ingly occupied  with  the  morning  paper,  but  in  reality  watch- 
ing for  the  carriage  which  would  bring  the  one  and  convey 
her  to  a  greater  distance  from  the  other.  She  was  not 
quite  alone,  for  on  a  sofa  in  the  same  room  lounged  Mrs. 
Mabury  with  a  book. 

Evelyn's  watch  had  just  informed  her  that  it  yet  wanted 
a  few  minutes  to  the  hour  appointed  by  her  father,  when 
her  attentive  ear  caught  the  sound  of  wheels  rattling  vio- 
lently over  the  pavement.  The  next  instant  a  frightful 
vision  flashed  before  her  eyes.  A  pair  of  large  and  power- 
ful-looking chesnu*  horses  were  dashing  furiously  by  with 
the  carriage  she  ha  1  so  lately  admired.  Rapidly  as  it  was 
borne  along,  Evelyj.  not  only  saw  her  father,  whose  head 
was  uncovered  and  his  face  turned  towards  her,  but  ascer- 
tained also  that  there  was  another  with  him.  The  face  of 
the  other  was  concealed  by  his  hat,  and  by  his  position  as 
he  stooped  forward,  apparently  in  a  desperate  effort  to  re- 
cover the  reins,  which  had  been  caught  in  some  part  of  the 
foot-board.  But  what  need  had  she  to  look  upon  his  face 
— did  she  not  know  but  too  well  who  was  to  be  the  com- 
panion of  her  father  ? 

A  faint  cry  from  Evelyn  and  her  hurried  movement,  as 
she  rose  and  threw  up  the  sash  beside  her,  attracted  Mrs. 
Mabury's  attention,  but  to  ^er  questioning  Evelyn  returned 
no  answer — she  was  leaning  far  out  of  the  window,  looking, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  131 

not  at  the  carriage,  for  that  was  already  out  of  sight,  but 
at  the  excited  crowd  that  gathered  in  its  wake. 

"What  is  the  matter,  John?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mabury, 
as,  approaching  the  window  with  awakened  curiosity,  she 
saw  her  footman  standing  beneath  it. 

With  a  hesitating  glance  at  Evelyn,  the  man  went  to  the 
farther  window,  and  there  Mrs.  Mabury  received  his  intelli- 
gence. 

"  Was  there  any  one  with  Mr.  Beresford  ?"  she  asked 
quickly,  as  John  informed  her  that  he  had  seen  that  gen- 
tleman in  the  carriage.  - 

Her  face  grew  paler,  and  she  pressed  her  lips  tightly 
together,  as  John  answered — "  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  There  goes  a  man  with  Mr.  Beresford's  cap — I  am 
sure  it  is  Mr.  Beresford's — ask  him  to  step  here,  John; 
perhaps  we  may  learn  something  from  him." 

Evelyn,  too,  had  recognised  the  cap,  and  listened  anx- 
iously to  the  question — "  My  good  man,  where  did  you  get 
that  cap  ?" — and  to  his  reply. 

"  I  picked  it  up  in  the  street,  for  I  was  standin'  by  when 
it  fell  from  off  the  gentleman's  head,  and  now  I'm  a  fol- 
lowin'  to  give  it  to  him ;  but  I'm  a  thinkin'  I  might  save 
myself  the  trouble,  for  I  hearn  jist  now  that  the  gentlemen 
was  both  pitched  out, — and  if  that's  the  case,  they  be'n't 
likely  to  want  any  cap  but  the  undertaker's." 

"  Hush — hush  !"  said  Mrs.  Mabury,  shrinking  herself 
from  such  a  terrible  announcement,  and  dreading  yet  more 
its  effect  on  Evelyn. 

The  caution  came  too  late.  All  had  been  said  and  heard. 
Evelyn  had  sunk  back  upon  her  chair,  and  as  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury drew  near  to  her  with  expressions  of  hope,  which 
her  white  and  trembling  lips  belied,  she  saw  that  she  had 
fainted. 

"  Loose  her  clothes,  and  lay  her  on  the  sofa,"  she  said  to 


132  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

her  own  woman  and  Evelyn's,  whom  John  had  sent  to  her ; 
"but  do  nothing  more, — she  will  revive  but  too  soon,  if 
what  we  dread  has  happened." 

Evelyn  lay  long  thus  senseless.  In  the  first  bewildered 
moments  of  returning  consciousness,  she  thought  there  were 
several  voices  whispering  around  her ;  yet,  when  she  opened 
her  eyes,  only  Mrs.  Mabury  was  bending  over  her  couch. 
She  met  her  glance  with  a  smile,  but  the  traces  of  agitation 
were  still  visible  upon  her  face,  and  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
memory  Evelyn  exclaimed — "  My  father !" 

"  His  life  is  safe,  dear  Evelyn,  quite  safe, — though  he  is 
not  unhurt !" 

"  And  he — oh  !    tell  me — " 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  and  rising  on  her  elbow,  glanced 
wildly  around.  The  next  instant  she  sank  back  on  her 
pillows,  covered  with  smiles  and  blushes.  She  had  seen 
Euston  Hastings,  who  said  gently — 

"  Your  friend  is  unhurt,  Miss  Beresford.  Come,  Mr. 
Irving,  let  Miss  Beresford  see  that  you  have  received  no 
injury." 

Everard  Irving,  who  had  only  withdrawn  from  the  fear 
of  alarming  her,  was  now  at  her  side — every  doubt  re- 
moved, every  jealous  apprehension  silenced,  and  silenced, 
he  believed,  forever.  He  knew  not  that  another  had  been 
supposed  the  sharer  of  Mr.  Beresford's  danger,  and  none 
who  heard  her  last  thrilling  appeal  to  Mrs.  Mabury,  could 
doubt  that  on  the  safety  of  him  respecting  whom  she  asked, 
her  happiness,  perhaps  her  very  life,  depended.  Even 
now,  she  turned  away  the  face  he  longed  to  look  upon,  she 
strove  to  withdraw  the  hand  vhich  he  fondly  clasped,  and 
he  called  it  embarrassment,  timidity,  any  thing  rather  than 
coldness.  -#.  ^;, 

But  not  so  was  it  with  Mrs.  Mabury.  She  knew  whom 
-Evelyn  had  believed  in  dagger.  Versed  in  every  varying 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  133 

tone  and  look  of  Euston  Hastings,  she  felt  that  there  was 
intentional  ambiguity  in  his  address  to  Evelyn. 

Mrs.  Mabury  was  too  proud  to  be  suspicious,  and  now, 
doubt  and  conviction  came  together ;  for  convinced  she  was 
that  Evelyn  Beresford,  the  affianced  of  Everard  Irving,  on 
•whom  he  was  even  now  lavishing  every  demonstration  of 
tenderness,  had  given  her  heart  to  Euston  Hastings,  and 
equally  convinced  that  she  had  not  given  it  unsought.  She 
turned  to  look  on  Euston  Hastings.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  her,  and  one  glance  of  keen  inquiry  told  him  her 
doubt, — a  proud  smile,  a  haughtier  erection  of  her  queenly 
head,  conveyed  to  him  her  conviction.  The  next  moment 
she  was  attending  to  Evelyn,  whose  thoughts  had  already 
returned  to  her  father,  and  who  was  now  demanding  to  be 
led  to  him. 

"  A  carriage  waits,  and  as  soon  as  you  are  ready  we  will 
go,"  said  Everard  Irving.  "  He  sent  me  for  you,  dear 
Evelyn,  and  I  am  impatient  to  return  to  him." 

Evelyn  glanced  at  her  dress,  and  Mrs.  Mabury  said, 
"We  must  convert  this  into  your  dressing-room,  Evelyn. 
Mr.  Irving,  if  you  will  go  into  the  next  room,  I  will  call 
you  as  soon  as  Miss  Beresford  is  prepared.  Mr.  Has- 
tings—" 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  me,  Estelle.  I 
will  make  my  adieu  to  Miss  Beresford,  and  amuse  myself 
with  a  book  in  your  boudoir  till  you  are  disengaged." 

Mrs.  Mabury 's  brow  flushed  as  Euston  Hastings  pro- 
nounced her  name ;  but  with  a  silent  bow  she  suffered  him 
logo. 

Evelyn's  anxiety  made  her  movements  rapid,  and  Ever- 
ard Irving  was  soon  summoned  to  accompany  her.  Mrs. 
Mabury  supported  her  to  the  carriage,  proffered  her  aid  to 
her  in  any  way  or  at  any  time,  received  Everard  Irving's 
promise  to  bring  her  intelligence  of  Mr.  .Beresford  and 
12 


134  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Evelyn  in  the  afternoon,  and,  as  the  carriage  drove  away, 
turned  to  the  room  in  -which  Euston  Hastngs  awaited 
her. 

A  spectator  might  have  detected  a  slight  tinge  of  color 
on  Euston  Hastings'  usually  pallid  brow,  and  might  have 
seen  that,  for  a  single  instant,  his  looks  were  turned  on  the 
ground  as  they  met  her  calm,  proud  eye.  Making  an  effort 
to  overcome  these  unusual  sensations,  as  Mrs.  Mabury 
seated  herself  on  the  couch,  he  flung  himself  into  the 
luxurious  chair  we  have  once  before  described  at  her  side, 
and  said — "  Your  guests  have  left  you." 

A  simple  affirmative  from  Mrs.  Mabury  was  succeeded 
by  some  minutes  of  silence,  each  desiring  that  the  other 
should  lead  the  way  to  that  subject  which  filled  the  hearts 
of  both.  Mrs.  Mabury  at  length  said,  "I  thought  from 
your  proposal  to  await  me  here,  that  you  had  something  to 
say  to  me." 

"  It  was  rather  to  ask  what  you  had  to  say  to  me.  Your 
looks  were  full  of  a  meaning  which  required  some  explana- 
tion." 

"  What  did  they  seem  to  you  to  express  ?" 

"  Inquiry." 

"  You  read  well ;  and  you  are  probably  aware  of  what  I 
intended  to  inquire, — but,  since  it  seems  an  embarrassing 
subject  to  you,  I  will  explain  myself  more  fully.  As  Miss 
Beresford's  temporary  guardian,  and  one  deeply  interested 
in  her  happiness,  I  inquire  what  are  your  designs  in  relation 
to  her." 

"Deeply  interested  in  Miss  Beresford's  happiness! — and 
have  you  no  other  interest,  Estelle  ?" 

Euston  Hastings  had  recovered  from  his  temporary  em- 
barrassment, and  again  his  dark  eyes  were  fixed  on  Mrs. 
Mabury,  and  his  deep,  earnest  tones  thrilled  her  heart  as, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  he  continued,  "Rejected  as  the 


CHARMS    AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  135 

husband,  scarce  tolerated  as  the  lover,  am  I  now  to  find 
myself  discarded  as  the  friend  ?" 

"  I  have  expressed  no  such  intention,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury, 
calmly,  though  her  voice  was  slightly  tremulous ;  "  as  your 
friend,  I  had  a  right  to  expect  your  confidence — it  has  been 
withheld,  and  you  know  me  too  well  to  believe  that  I 
would  seek  it,  did  not  my  duty  to  Miss  Beresford  con- 
strain me." 

"  My  confidence  has  ever  been  yours  unsought,  and  so  it 
would  have  been  now, — -but  in  truth,  Estelle,  I  have  only 
this  morning  become  conscious  that  I  have'  any  thing  to 
confide.  On  my  honor  I  have  never  spoken  of  love  to  this 
little  girl,  though  I  have  taken  some  interest  in  her,  and 
evinced  it  as  a  friend, — and  now  that  this  morning's  devel- 
opments seem  to  make  some  designs  respecting  her  neces- 
sary, I  am  exceedingly  puzzled  to  decide  what  they  shall 
be." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  his  voice  assumed  a  deeper 
tone  as  he  added — 

"  Estelle !  you  are  the  only  being  to  whom  my  heart  has 
ever  given  an  unconstrained  and  entire  devotion — to  your 
power  only  have  I  ever  submitted.  At  your  will,  I  sub- 
dued the  most  passionate  love  into  the  tenderest  and  most 
unreserved  friendship,  and  now,  once  more,  I  place  my 
destiny  at  your  disposal — decide  for  me.  I  have  not,  I 
repeat,  spoken  of  love  to  Evelyn  Beresford, — yet  the  events 
of  the  morning  prove  that  I  have  awakened  a  sentiment 
which  makes  her  happiness  dependent  on  me.  My  interest 
in  her  is  sincere,  and  I  feel  compelled  by  that,  and  by  my 
sense  of  honor,  to  marry  her,  or  to  withdraw  from  her 
sphere.  Of  you  I  ask — Which  shall  I  do — shall  I  leave 
America,  bid  adieu  for  life  to  her  and  to  you ;  or  shall  I 
make  her  my  wife,  and  still  indulge  myself  in  the  society 
of  my  dearest  and  truest  friend  ?" 


136  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS 

"  Could  you  not  withdraw  from  Evelyn  without  leaving 
America  ?" 

"  New  York  is  America  to  me,  and  I  do  not  see  how, 
remaining  so  near  her,  I  could  withdraw  from  all  association 
with  her,  without  inflicting  on  her  incessant  mortifications 
and  all  the  lingering  tortures  of  suspense.  To  go  abroad 
would  cost  me  little,  Estelle,  if  I  might  hope  for  your  so- 
ciety ;  but  I  cannot  be  so  selfish  as  to  ask  from  you  the 
sacrifice  which  I  know  it  would  cos«.  you  to  leave  your 
property  here  in  its  present  state." 

"  And  Evelyn — would  you  marry  her  without  love  ?  Do 
you  hope  thus  to  make  her  happy "?" 

"  I  do  not  love  her  as  I  could  have  loved  you,  my  friend ; 
but,  as  I  have  told  you,  she  interests  me,  she  pleases  me, 
I  can  give  her  all  which  her  less  capacious  soul  needs  for 
happiness ;  but  you,  Estelle,  you  must  ever  be  my  first  ob- 
ject, and  if  my  marriage  with  another  will  give  you  pain — " 

"  Give  me  pain !"  hurriedly  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mabury, 
"  impossible — it  can  give  me  only  pleasure  if  you  love  her — 
and  she  is  very  beautiful." 

These  last  words  were  pronounced  slowly,  as  if  reflection 
had  presented  Evelyn's  beauty  as  a  possible  basis  for  love. 
Piqued,  less  by  this  than  by  Mrs.  Mabury 's  avowal  of 
pleasure  in  his  marriage,  Euston  Hastings  replied,  "  There 
is  that  about  her,  Estelle;  which  charms  me  more  than  hei 
beauty — she  is  capable  of  the  most  passionate  devotion." 

"Passionate  devotion!  will  that  charm  always,  Euston?" 
asked  Mrs.  Mabury,  with  a  sadness  composed  of  regret  for 
herself  and  foreboding  for  Evelyn. 

"  Charm  always  !     Does  champagne  sparkle  forever?" 

"  And  when  the  charm  is  no  more,  when  the  champagne 
has  ceased  to  spaikle,  what  will  become  of  Evelyn?" 

"  It  is  time  enougli  to  ask  that  question  when  the  occasion 
arrives ;  you  know  it  is  my  principle  not  to  take  trouble  for 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  137 

a  future  that  may  never  arrive.  Besides,  with  a  marriage 
on  hand,  for  I  consider  it  decided  since  it  will  give  you 
pleasure,  I  have  enough  in  the  present  to  engross  my 
thoughts." 

"  As  mine  are  not  equally  absorbed,  and  as  your  acquaint- 
ance with  this  young  girl  was  formed  through  me,  you  will 
excuse  me  for  saying  that  there  must  be  no  disguise  with 
her — your  religious  sentiments,  your  views  of  marriage,  all 
must  be  made  known  to  her." 

"  They  shall  be — if  you  doubt  it.  make  them  known  to 
her  yourself ;  but  you  need  not  fear,  for  it  will  be  my  chief 
delight  to  see  her  lay  down,  one  by  one,  the  superstitions  of 
her  childhood  at  my  feet.  Be  assured  she  is  one  to  exclaim, 

'  Thou  for  my  sake  at  Alla's  shrine, 
And  I  at  any  God's,  for  thine.'  " 

"  And  how  will  you  dispose  of  Mr.  Irving's  claims  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Mabury  carelessly. 

"  That  is  not  a  question  for  my  consideration.  I  cannot 
indeed  be  supposed  to  be  acquainted  with  his  claims,  there 
being  no  avowed  engagement.  Should  Mr.  Irving  complain 
of  any  of  my  actions,"  he  added  haughtily,  "  he  will  find  me 
ready  to  defend  them.  Shall  you  see  Evelyn  to-day  ?" 

"  No,  not  until  to-morrow." 

"  I  will  go  with  you  then  ;  but  you  look  fatigued,  and  I 
must  leave  you  to  rest  after  a  morning  of  such  excitement— 
I  shall  return  to  dinner — shall  I  bring  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame L'Egare  with  me  ?" 

Euston  Hastings  was  already  at  the  door  when  he  asked 
this  question.  As  Mrs.  Mabury  answered,  "  Yes,"  he  kissed 
his  hand  and  disappeared.  Mrs.  Mabury 's  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  door  through  which  he  had  passed,  till  the  heavy 
sound  of  the  outer  door  closing  after  him  gave  notice  that 
he  had  left  the  house.  As  this  sound  fell  on  her  ear  the 
12* 


138  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

pent-up  agony  burst  forth,  and  clasping  her  hands  together 
she  exclaimed,  "Oh  God !  that  I  could  die,"  and  sank  upon 
the  couch  burying  her  head  in  its  cushions. 

Her  nature  was  as  passionate  as  proud,  and  Euston  Hast- 
ings had  awakened  its  utmost  intensity  of  feeling  and  grat- 
ified its  highest  ambition.  She  had  made  his  heart  her 
study,  and  had  tamed  down  her  wild  impulses  and  re- 
strained the  expression  of  her  "  passionate  devotion,"  because 
she  foresaw  that  for  him,  sooner  than  for  most  men,  the 
champagne  would  cease  to  sparkle.  Because  she  would 
not  relinquish  for  an  empty  title  all  that  gave  the  title  value, 
or  change  the  devoted  lover  for  the  cold  and  careless  hus- 
band, she  had  refused  to  become  the  wife  of  Euston  Hast- 
ings ;  yet  now,  that  another  was  to  be  linked  to  him  as  his 
other  self,  that  she  was  to  live  with  him  and  for  him,  to  be 
the  sharer  of  his  home,  and  thus  to  make  to  herself  an  iden- 
tity of  interests  and  of  feelings  with  him,  were  thoughts  that 
stung  her  heart  like  serpents,  and  from  which  she  could  not 
escape  even  for  a  moment.  She  would  have  hated  Evelyn, 
had  not  the  conviction  that  she  was  not  loved,  and  a  conse- 
quent foreboding  of  coming  sorrow  for  her,  softened  her  feel- 
ings into  pity.  When  the  first  paroxysm  of  her  agony  was 
passed,  her  pride  awoke  in  its  strength,  and  she  felt  that — 


With  the  shaft  in  her  bosom  borne, 


She  must  hide  the  wound  in  her  fear  of  scorn." 

And  never  had  Euston  Hastings  seen  Mrs.  Mabury  so  bril- 
liant as  at  that  day's  dinner  and  at  Mrs.  B — 's  soiree,  which 
they  attended  together  in  the  evening. 

"You  are  surely  a  Parisienne,"  said  Monsieur  L'Egare" 
to  her,  "for  never  an  American  was  so  sparkling." 

"  Nay,  am  I  not  an  Italian  ?"  she  asked,  with  an  arch 
smile,  as  moving  to  her  harp  she  sang,  to  a  low,  touching 
accompaniment,  a  stanza  in  that  language. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  139 

"  You  are  what  you  will,  and  you  make  of  us  what  you 
will,"  he  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm. 

She  shook  her  head  at  this,  and  for  an  instant  Euston 
Hastings  thought  that  he  detected  a  slight  quivering  of  her 
lip  and  a  moisture  veiling  her  eyes,  but  when  he  looked 
more  closely  they  were  gone. 


140  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Earth  were  too  like  Heav<  n 


If  length  of  life  to  love  were  given." 

LANDON. 

"  EVELYN,  dear  Evelyn,  let  me  tell  you  how  I  hate  myself 
for  my  irritability  yesterday  evening ;  I  can  never  mistake 
you  again,  and  you  will  forgive  me  now,  will  you  not,  Eve- 
lyn?" pleaded  Everard  Irving,  as  he  found  himself  alone 
with  Evelyn. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  Mr.  Irving,"  said  Evelyn, 
with  a  tremulous  voice ;  "  but  tell  me  of  my  father,  I  can 
think  of  nothing  else  just  now — where  is  he  ?" 

"  At  a  country-house  just  beyond  the  city." 

"  How  did  you  escape  ?  When  I  think  of  those  madden- 
ed horses  rushing  by  me,  it  seems  a  miracle — pray  tell  me 
all  about  it." 

"  I  was  fortunately  able  to  recover  the  reins  which  the 
first  sudden  movement  of  the  horses  had  pulled  from  your 
father's  hand.  Master  of  these,  I  could  guide  them  as  I 
pleased,  and  determined  to  let  them  run  till  they  had  ex- 
hausted themselves.  I  was  anxious,  however,  to  get  out 
of  Broadway,  where  there  was  constant  danger  of  collision 
with  other  carriages.  I  turned  accordingly  into  a  newly- 
opened  street  in  the  upper  part  of  the  iity,  determining  to 
pursue  the  first  road  ve  should  reach  leading  into  the  coun- 
try. Before  we  found  such  a  road,  we  approached  a  barri- 
cade thrown  across  the  street  by  the  workmen,  at  a  spot 
whets  seemingly  insurmountable  obstacles  presented  them- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  141 

selves  on  either  side.  Thus  hemmed  in,  and  believing  the 
horses  would  leap  the  barrier,  your  father  jumped  from  the 
back  of  the  carriage  and  I  followed  his  esample.  It  was 
well  we  did,  for,  kicking  themselves  free  from  most  of  the 
carriage,  the  horses  sprang  over  all  obstacles  with  the  re- 
mainder, and  were  out  of  sight  before  I  had  time  to  think 
of  them." 

"  And  my  father— was  he  much  hurt  ?" 

"  He  had  fallen,  and  was  stunned  and  bruised — do  not  be 
alarmed,  dear  Eva,  his  injuries  may  be  painful,  but  I  am 
sure  they  are  not  dangerous.  He  had  quite  recovered  his 
speech  and  his  senses  before  I  left  him,  and  I  sent  Dr. 
Huntly  to  him  before  I  came  for  you." 

"  How  did  you  remove  him?" 

"  The  country-seat  of  which  I  spoke  is  quite  near  the 
scene  of  our  disaster.  The  ladies  who  inhabit  it  sent  their 
man-servant  to  our  assistance,  I  called  some  laborers  from 
a  neighboring  field,  and  together  we  raised  him  and  carried 
him  to  the  house.  He  was  very  kindly  received,  and  I  left 
him  in  bed,  as  comfortably  lodged  as  possible." 

Evelyn  now  found  herself  in  the  unpaved  street  of  which 
Everard  Irving  had  spoken.  It  was  Fourth-street,  which 
twenty-five  years  ago  still  preserved  a  rural  appearance; 
country-seats  with  their  gardens,  and  even  farmhouses  with 
their  surrounding  patches  of  Indian  corn,  rye,  and  potatoes, 
presenting  themselves  here  and  there  among  the  high,  narrow, 
red-brick  houses  with  small  yards,  that  marked  the  advance 
of  the  city  and  the  increasing  value  of  the  ground.  The 
place  to  which  Mr.  Beresford  had  been  taken,  was  not  on 
the  street,  but  stood  a  little  north  of  it,  on  a  slight  eminence 
which  gave  it  the  advantage  of  an  unobstructed  view  of  the 
Hudson  river,  distant  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  a  direct 
line.  The  house  was  large,  built  of  wood,  and  surrounded 
by  a  piazza.  Large  elms  lifted  their  now  leafless  branches 


142  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

around  the  house,  but  what  had  probably  been  in  other 
days  the  flower-garden  and  shrubbery  was  devoted  to 
the  culture  of  vegetables  and  the  smaller  kinds  of  fruit  for 
the  New  York  market — a  change  which  gave  evidence  of 
the  decaying  fortunes  of  its  inhabitants.  Perhaps  some  as- 
sociation of  this  kind  with  the  scene  on  which  she  had  been 
looking,  caused  Evelyn  to  express  her  reluctance  to  intrude 
on  the  hospitalities  of  strangers  for  so  long  a  time  as  ner 
father's  injuries  might  prevent  his  removal. 

"  Dr.  Huntly  is  well  acquainted  with  them,  Evelyn,  and 
says  that  having  lost  a  large  part  of  their  income,  they  have 
been  accustomed  for  some  years  past  to  take  a  few  friends 
as  boarders  during  the  summer  season,  and  he  doubts  not 
that  he  can  make  the  same  arrangement  with  them  for  your 
father  and  yourself." 

Evelyn  was  met  on  the  piazza  by  a  lady  in  mourning 
whom  Everard  named  as  Mrs.  Caldwell,  and  on  entering 
the  parlor  she  was  introduced  by  her  to  her  mother,  Mrs. 
Frazer,  whose  reception  of  her  was  at  once  dignified  and 
kind.  The  air  of  all  around  and  within  the  house,  as  well 
as  the  manners  of  its  inmates,  bore  the  stamp  of  bettei  days. 
There  was  a  striking  contrast  between  the  dark  mahogany 
tables  and  sideboard  with  their  richly-carved  feet,  the  old- 
fashioned  but  handsome  piano  and  sofa,  and  the  coarse 
carpet,  the  purchase  of  a  later  day,  which  covered  the  floor. 
Not  less  strikingly  dissimilar  were  the  simple  and  worn  gar- 
ments of  Mrs.  Frazer  and  her  daughter,  and  the  gentle 
breeding  manifest  in  their  every  movement.  Evelyn  was 
too  much  agitated  to  mark  any  mere  externals,  but  she  felt 
the  influence  of  those  we.l-modulated  tones  and  quiet  cour- 
tesies that  mark  the  lady. 

"  Your  room  has  been  already  prepared  for  you,  Miss 
Beresford,"  said  Mrs.  Caldwell,  "  and  at  the  request  of  your 
friend  Dr.  Huntly,  a  fire  has  been  lighted  there,  but  it  has 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  143 

not  had  time  to  become  warm  yet.  Will  you  not  sit  with 
us  till  you  can  be  admitted  to  your  father's  apartment  ?" 

Evelyn  readily  assented,  and  leaving  her  with  her  kind 
hostesses,  Everard  went  to  Mr.  Beresford's  room  to  announce 
her  arrival.  He  found  there  both  Dr.  Huntly  and  the  cele- 
brated surgeon  Dr.  M ,  who  had  accompanied  him. 

"  You  are  just  in  time,  Mr.  Irving,"  said  Dr.  Huntly,  "  I 
have  sent  for  Mr.  Beresford's  man,  but  till  he  arrives  I  must 
constitute  you  head  nurse.  The  orders  are  easily  compre- 
hended. The  main  thing  is  to  keep  all  around  Mr.  Beres- 
ford  quiet — no  talking — no  excitement.  I  am  going  to  im- 
press the  same  thing  on  Miss  Beresford,  before  I  send  her 
in." 

Everard  followed  the  medical  gentlemen  to  the  door.  To 
his  looks  rather  than  his  words  Dr.  Huntly  replied,  "  Two 
ribs  broken  besides  that  cut  on  the  head,  but  no  danger  ex- 
cept from  fever ; — every  thing  depends  on  quiet." 

When  Evelyn  entered,  Everard  saw  at  a  glance  that  the 
same  lesson  had  been  impressed  on  her.  She  was  pale  with 
apprehension ;  but  when  he  would  have  started  forward  to 
support  her,  she  motioned  him  back,  and  advanced  gently 
to  the  side  of  the  bed.  Believing  her  father  asleep,  she 
stood  gazing  silently  upon  him,  with  large  tears  gathering 
in  her  downcast  eyes. 

"  Your  father  does  not  sleep,  Evelyn,"  said  Everard  Ir- 
ving, gently. 

Mr.  Beresford  heard  him,  and  opening  his  eyes,  fixed 
them  on  Evelyn  with  an  expression  so  tender,  that  her  forced 
composure  was  wholly  overcome,  and  falling  on  her  knees 
beside  the  bed,  she  dropped  her  head  upon  the  hand  which 
her  father  had  extended  to  her  and  sobbed  aloud. 

"  My  precious  child  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Beresford,  with  a 
quivering  lip,  "  God  has  been  very  good  to  us  this  day, 
and  next  to  him  you  must  thank  our  friend  Everard." 


144  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Evelyn  looked  gratefully  up  to  Everard,  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  him,  for  at  that  moment  all  but  her  father  was  for- 
gotten. He  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  continued  to 
hold  it  while  he  assisted  her  to  rise,  saying,  "  Your  thanks, 
dear  friend,  are  very  dear  to  me,  but  they  must  not  make 
me  forget  Dr.  Huntly's  instructions,  which  were  to  keep  Mr. 
Beresford  free  from  all  excitement.  80  Evelyn,"  he  added, 
with  playful  positiveness,  "  you  must  compose  yourself,  or 
in  virtue  of  my  office  as  head  nurse,  I  shall  turn  you  out." 

Evelyn  tried  to  smile,  as  seating  herself  beside  the  bed 
she  took  her  father's  hand,  and  said  gently,  "  Sleep  now, 
dear  father,  and  I  will  watch  you." 

"  I  cannot  sleep  yet,  my  child — I  have  something  to  say 
to  you  first.  Do  not  look  so  disturbed,  Everard;  I  am 
taking  the  right  way  to  rest,  by  removing  my  only  subject 
of  anxiety.  Nay,  if  you  shake  your  head,  I  must  try  bri- 
bing you.  They  say  every  man  has  his  price — what  think 
you  of  Evelyn  as  yours  ?  Ah  !  you  are  won,  I  see." 

Turning  to  Evelyn,  his  countenance  became  serious,  his 
tones  earnest,  as  he  continued — "  When  I  opposed  your  imme- 
diate marriage,  my  Eva,  i*  was  because  I  thought  I  could 
make  you  happier  at  home  than  any  husband  could  do — be- 
cause I  estimated,  perhaps  too  largely,  the  responsibilities  and 
cares  of  a  wife ;  but  to-day  has  brought  other  thoughts,  and 
I  desire  nothing  more  earnestly  than  to  see  you  married  this 
hour,  if  it  were  possible." 

"  Oh  father !  hush,  hush — you  speak  wildly — your  head 
is  disturbed." 

"  No — no,  my  child ;  I  am  quite  calm,  except  when  I 
think  of  leaving  you  a  desolate  and  unconnected  orphan. 
This  thought  made  my  moments  of  danger  moments  of  ago- 
ny to-day,  and  now — I  would  not  alarm  you,  Evelyn — Dr. 
Huntly  says  I  am  in  no  danger, — I  am  not,  I  trust,  in  any, 
yet  it  may  be  otherwise, — at  any  rate,  I  cannot  have  that 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  145 

perfect  quietness  of  mind  which  he  thinks  necessary  to  my 
recovery,  till  I  have  seen  you  taken  to  the  heart  of  one  in 
whom  I  can  confide  as  your  life-long  protector  and  friend, 
one  generous  and  brave  as  our  Everard  has  proved  himself 
to-day.  But,  my  child,  why  do  you  turn  so  pale,  and  look 
so  wildly  ? — I  repeat  to  you,  I  am  not  in  any  danger.  Speak 
to  her,  Everard." 

Everard  had  heard  Mr.  Beresford's  words  with  a  thrill  of 
delight  which  sent  a  sudden  flush  to  his  brow,  but  when  he 
looked  for  sympathy  to  Evelyn,  she  was  pale  as  marble. 
As  her  father  proceeded,  her  lips  parted,  and  moved  as  if 
in  the  vain  attempt  to  speak,  and  her  eyes  became  wild  with 
an  expression  of  terror.  He  spoke  soothingly  to  her,  and 
would  have  taken  her  hand,  but  she  recoiled  from  him  with 
a  quick  shudder. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her,  Everard ?"  asked  Mr. 
Beresford,  in  great  alarm. 

"  Nothing,  sir — nothing  serious,"  said  Everard,  while  his 
looks  and  manner  belied  his  words.  "  Your  words  have 
alarmed  her  for  you — pray  do  not  allude  to  any  thing  that 
can  agitate  her  at  present ;  she  has  suffered  too  much  al- 
ready to-day,  and  be  assured  no  ceremony  could  make  the 
tie  between  us  more  sacred  to  me.  I  will  be  her  life-long 
protector  and  friend,  so  help  me  Heaven  !"  and  he  pressed 
Mr.  Beresford's  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Everard — I  will  try  to  be  satisfied ;  but 
during  those  moments  when  I  expected  instant  death  to- 
day, her  lonely  position  was  my  bitterest  thought.  A  friend 
is  much,  but  a  husband — I  wish  yet  it  might  be." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it,  sir,  just  now — she  is  recover- 
ing." 

While  speaking  to  Mr.  Beresford,  Everard  had  fanned 
Evelyn,  held  a  glass  of  water  to  her  lips,  and  sprinkled  some 
in  her  face.  At  this  last  application,  with  a  quick,  deep  sob 
13 


146  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

she  turned  her  eyes  on  her  father,  and  dropping  her  head 
on  the  pillows  beside  him,  burst  into  tears. 

"  Poor  child  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Beresford,  "  I  did  not  mean 
to  agitate  you  thus." 

"  Evelyn,"  said  Everard,  gently,  "  calm  yourself  for  your 
father's  sake  and  mine.  Dismiss  every  agitating  thought 
from  your  mind,  and  be  assured  that  the  greatest  of  all 
bribes  shall  not  tempt  me  to  sanction  any  thing  which  can 
cost  you  a  tear.  You  know  that  no  ceremony  is  needed  to 
secure  to  you  my  entire  devotion.  Is  it  not  so,  dear  Ev- 
elyn ?" 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  murmured  Evelyn,  without  raising 
her  head. 

"  Then  reward  me  for  my  kindness,  if  you  think  it  such, 
by  allowing  me  to  support  you  to  your  room  ;  you  need  re- 
pose after  all  you  have  suffered,  and  I  will  make  a  better 
nurse  to  your  father  just  now  than  you  will." 

Mr.  Beresford  added  his  persuasions  to  Everard's,  and 
when  Evelyn  found  that  her  room  opened  upon  her  father's, 
and  that  a  slight  call  could  be  heard  from  the  one  to  the 
other,  she  no  longer  hesitated  to  comply  with  their  wishes. 
She  would  have  declined  Everard's  support,  but  her  father 
exclaimed,  "  Fye,  Evelyn  !  if  I  have  vexed  you,  do  not  resent 
it  on  Everard." 

"  Dear  father !  you  could  not  vex  me,"  she  replied,  and 
gave  her  hand  to  Everard  ;  but  she  was  more  exhausted  than 
she  felt  herself  to  be  till  she  attempted  to  stand,  and  Everard 
was  compelled  to  carry,  rather  than  lead  her,  not  only  to  her 
room,  but  within  it.  Lifting  her  gently  in  his  arms,  he  laid 
her  on  the  bed,  and  bending  over  her  for  a  moment,  said — • 

"  You  have  cured  me  of  all  my  jealous  doubts,  dear  Eva. 
1  will  wait  your  own  time  for  this  dear  hand,  and  wait  pa- 
tiently too,  if  you  are  not  very  unreasonable ;  so  think  no 
more  of  what  your  father  said — only  think  of  his  safety  and 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  147 

my  happiness,  and  let  me  see  you  with  your  own  bright 
smile  before  I  go  back  to  the  city  this  evening." 

As  the  door  closed  upon  him,  Evelyn  wrung  her  hands 
wildly,  and  uttered  that  question  which  seems  the  last  ap- 
peal of  suffering,  feeble  humanity  to  all  above — within— 
around, — "  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

The  events  of  this  day  had  rent  asunder  the  veil  which 
hid  from  Evelyn's  view  her  heart's  inmost  sanctuary,  and 
she  could  no  longer  doubt  whose  image  was  enshrined 
there.  Yet  Euston  Hastings,  even  thus  preferred,  might 
have  envied  the  confidence  in  his  rival's  magnanimity  which 
made  it  Evelyn's  first  impulse,  in  this  most  trying  moment  of 
her  life,  to  reveal  to  him  all  the  conflicting  emotions  which 
disturbed  her,  and  seek  his  counsel  and  his  aid.  But  this 
impulse  was  checked  by  maidenly  shame.  How  could  she 
reveal  to  another  that  which  she  would  gladly  conceal  from 
herself  ? — how  could  she  acknowledge  that  her  heart  had 
been  given  to  one  \vho  had  not  sought — who  probably  did 
not  value  it  ?  The  very  thought  sent  the  blood  flushing  to 
her  brow.  Where  could  she  find  language,  voice  for  its  ex- 
pression ? 

In  thoughts  such  as  these  was  the  hour  spent  which  Ev- 
elyn had  allotted  to  repose,  and  though  she  strove  to  smile 
when  she  appeared  in  her  father's  room  again,  Everard 
shook  his  head  and  whispered,  "  Not  your  own  bright  smile 
yet,  dearest." 

He  proposed  going  for  Mary,  whose  companionship 
would  now,  he  thought,  be  valuable  both  to  Evelyn  and 
her  father.  As  the  weather  was  unusually  mild,  and  little 
danger  was  therefore  to  be  apprehended  from  the  travelling 
or  the  change  of  climate  for  Mary,  Mr.  Beresford  gladly 
accepted  this  proposal,  and  Everard  commeivsd  his  journey 
to  Baltimore  early  the  next  morning. 

Relieved  by  his  absence,  and  by  Dr.  Huntlj  's  report  of 


148  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

her  father,  Evelyn  spent  the  morning  with  him,  exerting 
herself  for  his  entertainment  with  something  of  her  old 
cheerfulness.  It  was  nearly  noon  -when  carriage-wheels 
were  heard  moving  over  the  gravelled  walks.  They 
stopped. 

"  Who  is  it,  Eva  ?"  asked  Mr.  Beresford. 

"Mrs.  Mabury  and — and — Mr.  Hastings,"  replied  Eve- 
lyn, who  had  advanced  quickly  to  the  window,  and  as 
quickly  retreated. 

She  was  called  to  the  parlor,  and  the  visiters  saw  Mr. 
Beresford  separately,  while  she  entertained  each  in  turn 
during  the  absence  of  the  other. 

"Mr.  Beresford  seems  quite  unhappy  at  your  confine- 
ment," said  Euston  Hastings  to  her  at  parting,  "  and,  as 
walking  is  out  of  the  question  at  this  season,  where  there 
are  no  pavements,  I  have  proposed  to  him  to  send  for  your 
horse.  May  I  claim  the  privilege  of  riding  with  you  some- 
times, during  Mr.  Irving's  absence  ?" 

"  Come  here,  Evelyn  I"  exclaimed  Mr.  Beresford,  when 
she  returned  to  his  room,  "  let  me  see  if  you  are  as  pale  as 
Mr.  Hastings  seemed  to  think  you — he  quite  disturbed  me 
by  his  apprehensions  for  your  health — Pale !"  he  repeated, 
as  Evelyn  stood  beside  him  with  the  flush  of  pleasure  man- 
tling on  her  cheeks,  "  he  must  have  a  strange  taste  if  he 
requires  more  color  than  that.  Still,  I  am  glad  he  spoke 
of  it,  for  it  reminded  me  of  the  necessity  of  exercise  for 
you,  and  he  has  promised  to  send  for  your  horse,  and  come 
occasionally  and  ride  with  you  while  Everard  is  away.  It 
is  very  kind  in  him ;  perhaps  Mrs.  Mabury  will  join  you 
too.  I  wonder,"  he  continued,  rambling  on  in  the  way  in 
which  the  sick  and  the  idle  so  often  do,  A  I  wonder  they 
are  not  married ;  but  I  suppose  she  prefers  to  get  through 
this  lawsuit  about  her  husband's  will  first." 

The  glow  faded  from  Evelyn's  cheek  as  she  felt  that  her 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  149 

father's  supposition  was  but  too  probable ;  and  her  almost- 
forgotten  belief  in  the  engagement  of  Euston  Hastings  and 
Mrs.  Mabury,  was  again  established. 

The  next  morning's  sun  rose  bright  and  clear.  The  air  was 
mild  for  the  season — so  mild  that  it  might  have  been  mistaken 
for  May.  Evelyn's  horse  arrived  quite  early  in  the  morning, 
and  about  ten  o'clock  Euston  Hastings  presented  himself. 
We  have  said  he  was  a  fearless  rider,  and  we  should  have 
added,  that  he  was  perfect  master  of  his  horse,  and  rode 
with  such  easy  and  careless  grace  that  nowhere  was  he 
seen  to  greater  advantage  than  in  the  saddle.  Then,  there 
is  certainly  no  position  in  which  a  gentleman  may  more 
agreeably  manifest  his  interest  in  a  lady,  his  tender  regard 
for  her  surety,  ois  anxiety  for  her  comfort,  than  when  at- 
tending her  on  a  ride.  And  well  did  Euston  Hastings 
understand  the  advantages  of  this  position,  and  with  ac- 
complished tact  did  he  avail  himself  of  them.  How  care- 
fully did  he  examine  the  saddle-girths  himself,  although 
the  groom  assured  him  that  they  had  been  well  secured ! 
With  what  tender  grace  did  he  place  Evelyn  in  the  saddle ! 
Then  placing  his  hand  on  the  mane  of  his  own  horse,  and 
vaulting  at  once  into  his  seat,  he  led  the  way  through  a 
narrow  road,  spicy  with  the  opening  buds  of  the  early 
spring.  All  around  Evelyn  was  bright  and  joyous,  and 
all  within  her  was  bright  and  joyous  too.  Desponding 
thoughts  had  been  left  in  her  father's  still  and  darkened 
chamber.  Here  were  the  free  air  and  the  glorious  heavens, 
looks  which  were  the  light  of  her  soul,  a  voice  which  was 
its  music, — and  with  her  usual  susceptibility  to  present  im- 
pressions, she  yielded  to  the  influence  of  the  hour,  forgetful 
of  Mrs.  Mabury,  of  Everard  Irving,  of  all  that  could  trouble 
her  joy. 

"  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  one  of  my  early  haunts, 
Evelyn — that  is,  if  I  can  find  a  practicable  path  to  it,"  said 
13* 


150  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Euston  Hastings,  as,  after  riding  about  two  miles,  he  turned 
aside  into  a  road  so  long  disused,  that  it  was  nearly  grown 
up.  He  proceeded  slowly,  now  holding  back  the  over- 
hanging branches  till  she  had  passed  them,  and  now  urging 
her  horse  through  the  thickly-grown  shrubbery  at  which 
she  hesitated. 

"  Come  on,  Evelyn,"  he  said  encouragingly,  "  but  a  few 
yards  farther  and  you  will  find  an  open  space.  I  have  not 
been  here  for  many  years,  yet  every  foot  of  the  way  is  as 
familiar  to  me  as  the  grounds  of  Beresford  Hall  are  to  you. 
It  was  my  favorite  resort  in  eaily  youth,  though  even  then 
it  had  been  long  deserted." 

Even  while  he  spoke  the  trees  receded,  and  Evelyn  found 
herself  in  a  comparatively  open  space,  exhibiting  traces  of 
having  once  been  inhabited, — though  tall  shrubs  had  grown 
up  amongst  the  former  ornamental  trees,  and  it  was  still 
difficult  to  proceed  through  them.  Euston  Hastings,  how- 
ever, broke  through  them,  and  she  followed  him  till  they 
stood  beside  a  crumbling  wall  of  brick,  which  formerly  en- 
closed a  garden,  and  saw  before  them  the  solid  stone-work 
of  what  had  once  been  part  of  an  extensive  house  and 
offices.  Most  of  the  space  which  these  had  occupied  was 
now  covered  by  a  shapeless  mass  of  ruins ;  but  one  room 
at  the  southwest  corner  of  the  house  still  retained  its  walls 
and  roof,  though  doors,  windows,  shutters,  and  all  the  inner 
wood -work,  appeared  to  have  been  torn  away.  Evelyn 
looked  around  her  with  wonder. 

"  You  have  never  been  here,  I  see,"  said  Euston  Has- 
tings. 

"  No ;  I  have  never  even  heard  of  such  a  place.  To 
whom  does  it  belong  ?" 

"  I  know  not  who  may  now  be  called  lord  of  the  soil,  for 
little  else  remains.  It  was  the  property  of  a  lady,  who 
married  and  has  since  lived  abroad.  She  refused  to  sell 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  151 

the  place  because  here  were  the  graves  of  her  fathers.  It 
was  inhabited  for  some  years  after  her  departure ;  but  the 
house  was  destroyed  by  an  accidental  fire,  and  has  never 
been  rebuilt.  But  follow  me,  Evelyn — this  way,"  he  added, 
as  he  put  his  horse  in  motion,  "  we  can  enter  that  room  I 
think,  and  there  is,  or  was  once,  a  fine  view  from  it  of  the 
river." 

Evelyn  obeyed  his  directions  in  silence.  They  drew  near 
the  wall,  and  through  the  unsashed  and  unshuttered  win- 
dow she  looked  into  the  dilapidated  but  not  yet  demolished 
room.  Euston  Hastings  sprang  from  his  horse  and  led 
hers  to  the  window,  saying — "  If  you  have  no  objection,  I 
should  like  to  stand  within  the  old  walls  again." 

The  window  descended  to  the  floor,  and  Evelyn  stepped 
without  hesitation  from  her  saddle  to  its  sill.  Euston  Has- 
tings secured  their  horses  to  a  tree,  and  joined  her. 

"  See,  Evelyn  !"  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  a  broken  line 
of  wall  at  the  distance  of  some  eight  or  ten  yards,  "  this 
room  probably  opened  on  a  flower-garden.  It  must  have 
been  a  pleasant  spot  when  you  could  look  forth  from  those 
western  windows  on  the  river — now  completely  hidden,  I 
see,  by  the  thickening  growth — and  from  these  on  flowery 
beds,  and  beyond  them  on  majestic  forest-trees  or  cultivated 
fields." 

It  might  once  have  been  a  pleasant  spot,  but  Evelyn  felt 
that  it  was  now  a  sad  one,  and  she  listened  to  his  remarks 
in  silence.  He  too  seemed  to  feel  a  depressing  influence, 
for  his  next  words  were  in  a  low,  subdued  tone. 

"And  here,"  he  said,  "men  have  lived  and  died — these 
crumbling,  deserted  walls  have  echoed  the  festal  song,  the 
light  laugh,  and  the  sorrowful  wail.  Man  has  told  his  love 
here  in  the  deep  tones  of  passionate  emotion,  and  woman 
has  listened  to  him  in  the  silence  which  is  more  eloquent 
than  speech." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


His  eyes  rested  on  Evelyn.  She  could  not  meet  his 
fixed  and  passionate  gaze,  but  she  felt  it  sinking  into  her 
soul,  and  drawing  her  to  him  with  mysterious  power. 

"  May  I  speak  and  will  you  listen  thus,  Evelyn  ?" 

She  trembled  violently,  and  suffered  herself  to  rest  al- 
most unconsciously  on  the  arm  which  he  extended  for  her 
support.  He  gazed  long  and  fondly  on  her  downcast  face, 
which  her  small  riding-cap  left  fully  exposed,  before  he 
spoke  again.  He  would  not,  with  the  impetuosity  of  youth, 
exhaust  too  quickly  his  cup  of  pleasure, — slowly  and  delib- 
erately he  tasted  its  every  drop. 

"  Now,  dear  one,"  he  resumed,  "  you  know  me  in  truth 
for  your  lover.  While  I  believed  your  heart  was  given  to 
another,  I  might  talk  of  friendship, — but  yesterday — "  he 
paused,  and  the  rushing  blood  dyed  yet  more  deeply  Eve- 
lyn's already  crimsoned  cheeks, — "  it  was  not  Mr.  Irving 
whom  you  believed  in  danger, — not  for  him  that  you  suf- 
fered and  rejoiced.  Nay,  turn  not  from  me, — if  you  would 
find  a  hiding-place,  let  it  be  here,  beloved  !"  *and  he  folded 
her  to  his  bosom. 

Bewildered,  agitated,  Evelyn  lay  there  as  in  a  blissful 
dream.  One  fair  cheek  was  still  visible,  and  Euston  Has- 
tings watched  with  delight  the  blushes  and  dimpling  smiles 
which  flitted  over  it  at  his  whispered  words. 

"  I  could  stay  thus  forever,  love,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  but  you  tremble — your  hands  are  cold,  and  I  must  not 
risk  my  just- won  treasure  ;  yet,  though  afraid  to  keep  you 
here,  I  cannot  let  you  go  till  your  own  lips  have  told  me 
that  you  are  mine — it  is  but  three  little  words  I  ask." 

He  paused  and  bent  his  head.  The  sweet  lips  moved, 
and  the  smile  which  lighted  Euston  Hastings'  eyes,  and  the 
bright  flush  which  rose  to  his  pale  brow,  told  that  he  had 
received  the  assurance  he  desired,  thoug  a  it  could  scarce 
be  said  that  a  whisper  stirred  the  air. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  153 

"  I  cannot  be  too  careful  of  my  own,"  he  said  tenderly, 
and  unbuckling  his  short  riding- cloak,  he  threw  it  over  the 
sill  of  the  window,  and  placed  Evelyn  on  it  in  a  reclining 
position,  while  he  went  to  bring  up  their  horses.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  was  again  at  her  side,  and  with  a  tenderness 
which  he  well  knew  how  to  throw  into  his  slightest  actions, 
he  raised  her  to  the  saddle,  placed  the  little  foot  he  held 
within  its  stirrup,  and  kissed  the  hand  to  which  he  re- 
linquished the  bridle, — then  throwing  his  own  bridle  over 
his  arm,  he  walked  beside  her,  removing  every  possible  ob- 
struction from  her  path,  and  supporting  her  in  the  saddle 
where  the  difficulties  in  the  way  were  of  a  kind  which  he 
could  not  remove.  Evelyn  listened  almost  in  silence  to  his 
expressions  of  tenderness.  Hers  was  that  rapturous  hap- 
piness for  which  earthly  language  has  no  expression,  but 
Euston  Hastings  read  it  in  her  varying  color,  in  the  timid 
consciousness  which  kept  her  eye  averted  from  his,  and  in 
the  trembling  of  the  hand  he  clasped.  He  proceeded 
slowly,  lengthening  out  his  enjoyment  to  the  utmost,  yet 
far  sooner  than  he  wished,  sooner  perhaps  than  Evelyn  her- 
self desired,  they  approached  the  public  road. 

"  We  are  about  to  leave  our  paradise  for  the  world,  my 
Eve,"  said  he  playfully,  "  but  since  we  go  together  I  will 
not  complain.  Before  we  turn  '  back  to  busy  life  again,' 
from  this  sweet  solitude,  let  me  once  more  strive  to  thank 
you  for  the  gift  you  have  this  day  made  me.  Earth  has 
no  treasure,  love,  which  could  buy  from  me  the  memory  of 
the  last  bright  hour,  or  the  yet  brighter  hopes  which  it 
has  enkindled.  If  I  could  spare  one  thought  from  my 
own  joy,  it  would  be  to  pity  him  from  whom  I  have 
snatched  it." 

Withdrawing  the  arm  which  had  encircled  her,  he  was 
turning  away  to  mount  his  horse,  when  Evelyn  uttered  a 
sudden  exclamation,  and  rested  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder 


154  JHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CT  ARMS. 

to  detain  him.  Looking  into  her  face,  he  saw  there  an  ex- 
pression of  'jsin  and  embarrassment,  and  again  drawing 
near  to  her  he  inquired,  "  What  is  the  matter,  dearest  ?" 

"  Mr.  Irving — I  had  forgotten — I  fear  he  will  think — he 
will  feel — "  she  found  it  impossible  to  proceed  further,  and 
Euston  Hastings,  after  waiting  a  moment,  replied  to  the 
thoughts  which  he  divined. 

"  Mr.  Irving  will  doubtless  be  very  much  grieved  when 
he  discovers  that  another  has  won  her  whom  he  sought ; 
but  think  you  he  would  be  better  pleased  if  this  hand 
were  his  without  the  heart's  consent,  or  would  my  Eva 
shadow  her  spotless  purity  and  transparent  truth  by  a 
union  unhallowed  by  love  ? — No,  dearest — I  am  assured 
you  could  not.  Mr.  Irving  is  an  estimable  young  man,  and 
deserves  the  friendly  regard  that  you  have  given  him,  but 
he  could  not  love  you  as  I  love,  Eva — passionately — mad- 
ly— it  is  not  in  his  nature.  Be  frank  with  him,  he  will  ap- 
preciate your  frankness,  and  cease  to  be  your  lover  only  to 
become  your  friend." 

Did  Euston  Hastings  believe  all  which  he  thus  boldly  as- 
serted ?  We  know  not,  but  his  confidence  at  least  con- 
vinced Evelyn  of  his  truth, — a  truth  which  found  in  her  a 
ready  believer,  because  it  accorded  both  with  her  wishes 
and  with  the  impressions  already  entertained  by  her  of 
Everard.  Long  had  she  been  accustomed  to  silence  the 
accusations  of  her  own  heart,  when  conscious  of  greater 
coldness  towards  him  than  their  relations  excused,  by  say- 
ing to  herself,  "  Mr.  Irving  is  so  calm,  so  cold  himself,  that 
he  would  not  desire  to  awaken  a  warmer  emotion."  Trup, 
there  were  times  when  a  sudden  rush  of  feeling  overthrew 
the  barriers  he  had  with  such  difficulty  erected,  and  an  ir- 
repressible exclamation,  a  look,  a  sudden  uncontrollable 
movement  betrayed  the  passion  of  his  soul.  But  these 
times  were  of  rare  occurrence,  and  Evelyn  soon  forgot  what 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  55 

it  was  painful  to  remember.  She  had  not  yet  so  read 
that  strange  book,  man's  heart,  as  to  recognise  in  his  self- 
control  the  strongest  evidence  of  his  love  and  her  power. 
She  seemed  to  Everard  so  pure  and  gentle,  so  like  the 

" angel  shapes  that  bless 

An  infant's  dream — " 

that  he  feared  to  utter  hi  her  presence  the  tones  of  earthly 
passion,  and  with  a  power  over  himself  which  he  had 
never  before  exercised,  he  had  suffered  no  feeling  to 
breathe  before  her  which  could  disturb  her  tranquillity — 
which  was  not  pure  and  gentle  as  herself. 

"  Have  you  fulfilled  your  promise  to  me  of  acquainting 
Miss  Beresford  with  your  peculiar  religious  opinions,"  asked 
Mrs.  Mabury,  when  Euston  Hastings  communicated  to  her 
his  success  with  Evelyn. 

"  Nay,  Estelle,  you  surely  could  not  expect  that  I  should 
mingle  a  theological  discussion,  or  a  confession  of  faith,  with 
my  first  avowal  of  love.  I  could  think  of  no  Heaven  to-day 
but  that  which  beamed  in  Evelyn's  eyes  and  hung  upon  her 
lips.  Passionless,  Elton  called  her — never  was  spirit  at 
once  so  pure  and  so  impassioned  enshrined  in  form  so  beau- 
tiful— and  she  is  mine  !  Mine !  when  my  life  seemed  al- 
ready past  its  meridian  splendor.  Mine !  Estelle,  spite  of 
all  pledges  upon  earth  or  vows  to  Heaven,  as  you  shall 
learn  to-morrow." 

On  that  morrow,  at  noon,  Euston  Hastings  and  Evelyn 
stood  together  in  Mr.  Beresford's  library.  They  had  come 
to  select  some  books  for  him.  The  selection  had  been 
made,  and  Euston  Hastings  was  now  looking  idly  on  the 
titles  of  the  volumes  around  him.  On  one  shelf  he  read 
aloud,  "Spinoza,  Helvetius,  Hume,  Diderot,  Voltaire,  Kant, 
Paley,  Butler,  Locke,  Stewart,  Reid — your  father  is  liberal, 
I  see,  Evelyn,  and  does  not  proscribe  men  because  of  their 
opinions  on  speculative  questions." 


156  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  My  father  says,  experience  has  made  him  tolerant,  for 
that  his  own  mind  was  in  early  life  long  bewildered  by  the 
subtilties  of  an  infidel  writer,  and  that  he  is  not  now  a 
more  conscientious  believer  in  truth  than  he  was  then  in 
falsehood." 

"Truth!  falsehood!  who  saall  venture  to  say  what  is 
truth  ?"  exclaimed  Euston  Hastings. 

"  His  belief  now,"  said  Evelyn  timidly,  "  is  not  in  the 
opinions  of  men,  but  in  the  word  of  God." 

"Received  as  such  on  the  opinions  of  men — but  pardon 
me,  Evelyn,"  he  continued,  seeing  her  shrink  Lack  as  if  in 
terror  at  his  words,  "  pardon  me,  I  did  not  mean  to  say  a 
word  that  should  unsettle  your  faith ;  for  worlds  I  would 
not  deprive  you  of  the  comfort  which  you  may  derive  from 
your  belief  in  another  and  brighter  world,  where  the  disor- 
ders of  this  will  be  rectified  and  its  sorrows  be  forever  at 
rest." 

Evelyn's  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  floor,  her  countenance 
was  clouded;  at  length  looking  up  to  him,  she  said  with 
evident  effort,  "  And  have  not  you  this  comfort  too  ?" 

He  met  her  eye  boldly  and  answered  promptly,  "  No, 
Evelyn,  no ;  not  even  the  fear  of  your  displeasure,  perhaps 
of  your  estrangement,  can  make  me  hesitate  to  speak  the 
truth.  For  me  there  is  no  such  sweet  illusion.  I  see  in 
this  our  world  but  a  '  congregation  of  vapors,'  not  always 
pestilent,  for  they  sometimes  combine  in  such  proportions 
as  almost  to  force  us  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  angels ; 
but,  alas !  experience  teaches  us  that  even  in  these  lovely 
forms  their  adhesion  endures  not  forever.  The  cloud  van- 
ishes, the  flower  fades,  and  man  dies ;  happy  they  who  can 
believe  that  from  the  dust  which  has  fed  vegetation  for 
successive  years,  or  been  b.  me  afar  on  the  winds  of  heaven, 
he  shall  arise  again  in  his  beauty  and  strength !  But  must 
those,  whose  inflexible  reasons  will  not  bow  to  such  a  creed, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  157 

lose  the  joys  of  earth  as  well  as  those  of  an  anticipated 
Heaven  ?  For  me  there  is  no  future,  Evelyn,  shall  I  have 
no  joy  in  the  present?  Of  you  I  ask,  for  the  answer  de- 
pends on  you.  Thick  darkness  is  before  me,  of  all  which  it 
veils  I  see  only  the  grave — shall  I  walk  to  it  lonely  and 
despairing,  or  shall  I  go  with  this  dear  hand  clasped  thus 
in  mine  ?  will  you  light  my  path  by  your  love  and  mako  for 
me  too  a  Heaven  ?  Speak,  love ;  my  Heaven,  my  all,  hangs 
upon  your  lips." 

Twice  those  lips  moved  ere  Euston  Hastings'  attentive 
ear  caught  the  murmured  words,  "  Have  I  not  said,  I  am 
yours  ?" 

"  Mine — my  beautiful — my  beloved — mine  only  !" 

"The  battle  has  been  fought  and  the  victory  won,  Es- 
telle,"  exclaimed  Euston  Hastings,  entering  Mrs.  Mabury's 
boudoir  on  the  evening  of  this  day  with  more  animation 
than  she  had  ever  seen  him  exhibit ;  "  Evelyn  is  now  mine 
indeed." 

"But  of  what  battle,  what  victory  did  you  speak ?" 

"  Of  what  battle  ?  do  you  account  it  a  slight  achievement 
to  enter  the  lists  against  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Irving,  with 
the  advantage  of  a  prior  engagement  on  his  side  ?" 

"  With  some  ladies,  a  prior  engagement,  especially  one 
which  had  endured  for  two  or  three  months,  would  be  no 
slight  disadvantage." 

"  With  some  ladies,  doubtless,  but  not  with  Evelyn  Beres- 
ford.  This,  however,  was  not  the  battle  to  which  I  had 
reference.  I  have  this  day  met  boldly  the  strongest  preju- 
dices of  our  nature,  religious  prejudices,  and  I  have  con- 
quered. The  faith  which  can  remove  mountains,"  he 
added  with  a  sneer,  "  has  yielded  to  LOVE." 

"  Yielded  at  the  first  attack,  it  seems — an  easy  victory  ! 
However  I  am  too  much  occupied  with  other  affairs  to  talk 
of  it  now.  I  am  weary  of  New  York ;  I  would  as  soon 
14 


158  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

spend  my  life  in  a  convent,  with  its  eternal  repetition  of  an- 
thems and  aves,  as  in  this  continual  round  of  soulless  gay- 
eties,  where  simj  ering  ladies  and  well-dressed  gentlemen 
pace  with  measui  id  step  the  same  unvarying  circle,  beyond 
which  no  foot  ever  ventures.  I  am  sick  to  death  of  it. 
Monsieur  and  Madame  L'Egare  are  dying  of  ennui  from  the 
same  cause,  and  to-morrow  we  set  out  for  the  South.  We 
are  told  that  we  shall  find  greater  variety  there — at  any 
rate  there  will  be  some  relief  in  travelling." 

"  But — your  business?" 

"  I  have  done  all  I  can  in  preparation  for  the  suit,  and  it 
will  not  come  on  before  the  June  term.  I  shall  return  hero 
before  that  time." 

Euston  Hastings  felt  and  looked  dissatisfied.  After  some 
minutes'  silence,  he  said,  "  I  think  you  have  scarcely  treated 
me  well,  Estelle,  in  communicating  your  plans  only  at  the 
last  moment,  and  when  you  know  that  I  have  assumed  ob- 
ligations which  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  leave  this  place. 
Had  you  told  me  sooner,  I  might  have  gone  with  you." 

"  Gone  with  us !  Leave  la  beUe  Evelyn !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mabury,  with  more  spirit  than  she  had  hitherto  shown. 
"  Nay,  nay — you  jest." 

"  Jest  or  not,  there  is  no  time  now  to  think  of  it ;  but 
only  delay  your  departure  for  a  month,  and  I  will  marry 
Evelyn,  and  take  her  with  us." 

"  Impossible — we  have  but  little  more  than  two  months 
now,  for,  as  I  have  told  you,  I  must  be  here  in  June." 

"  A  fortnight  then — there  is  much  to  be  done,  but  I  will 
engage  to  accomplish  all  in  that  time." 

"I  do  not  doubt  you  could,  but  I  cannot  detain  my 
friends  even  for  a  fortnight." 

"  A  week  then — stay  a  week  only,  and  I  will  persuade 
Evelyn  to  el  5pe  with  me — a  marriage  a  la  regie  will  be  im- 
possible in  tiat  time." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  159 

"  Cannot  you  persuade  her  to  go  without  any  marriage 
at  all  ?" 

It  was  rarely  that  Mrs.  Mabury  suffered  any  thing  so  like 
a  sneer  to  be  seen  in  her  face,  or  heard  in  her  tones,  as  was 
evident  in  them  at  this  moment. 

"  Estelle  is  piqued,"  said  Euston  Hastings  to  himself,  and 
with  the  thought  his  annoyance  at  her  projected  departure 
vanished.  "She  will  return,"  he  continued,  "just  in  time 
to  prevent  my  experiencing  the  insipidity  of  an  American 
manage :  for  a  little  while  it  is  perhaps  as  well  that  she 
should  be  away.  Evelyn  must  occupy  me  almost  wholly 
for  the  next  few  weeks." 

Such  were  his  thoughts — his  answer,  with  scarce  a  percep- 
tible pause,  was,  "  No,  no — not  in  so  short  a  time  at  least. 
All  conventionalisms — mere  conventionalisms  she  would,  I 
am  convinced,  readily  yield  to  me ;  but  it  would  take  some 
time — more  than  a  week,  I  fear — to  convince  her  that  mar- 
riage is  only  a  conventionalism,  and  then,  if  I  succeeded, 
these  things  are  made  matters  of  such  moment  in  this  coun- 
try, that  I  should  probably  find  '  le  jeu  ne  vaut  pas  la  chan- 
delle.'  So  I  must  submit  to  my  fate,  and  consent  to  be 
separated  from  you  for  a  little  time,  but  I  shall  anxiously 
expect  your  return.  By  your  enlivening  intercourse  you 
will  communicate  that  piquant  flavor  which  will  prevent  my 
dish  of  matrimony  palling  on  the  sense." 

"  You  speak  en  proph&te, — it  is  scarcely  safe  to  answer 
for  what  I  will  do  two  months  hence.  But  here  comes 
Monsieur  L'Egare  to  tell  me  what  I  must  do  to-morrow— 
Entrez,  monsieur." 


160  CHARMS  ANI    COUNTER-CHASMS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  His  heart  is  seared, 

A  sweet  light  has  been  thrown  upon  its  love, 
To  make  its  darkness  the  more  terrible — 
And  this  is  Love !" 

L.  E.  L. 

BITTER  indeed  had  been  the  struggle  between  pride  and 
passion  in  Mrs.  Mabury's  heart  since  Euston  Hastings  had 
first  confided  to  her  his  intentions  respecting  Evelyn.  Many 
times  had  she  been  tempted  to  resign  the  first.  One  look 
of  tenderness,  one  word  of  regret  from  Euston  Hastings,  and 
she  would  have  thrown  herself  into  his  arms,  and  avowed  the 
devotion  which  he  professed  to  value  in  another ;  but  she  saw 
that,  if  she  had  ever  touched  his  heart,  newer  charms  had, 
for  a  time  at  least,  broken  her  spell,  and  that  her  confession 
would  probably  win  for  her  only  a  cold,  perhaps  a  con- 
temptuous pity — and  she  endured.  But  she  feared  that  she 
could  not  long  continue  to  see,  to  hear  his  love  for  another, 
and  yet  cloak  with  gay  smiles  the  serpents  which  lay  coiled 
around  her  heart,  and  struck  deep  within  it  their  envenomed 
fangs.  From  this  fear  arose  her  present  plan  of  leaving 
New  York.  She  would  have  preferred  to  go  alone,  but 
she  had  no  good  excuse,  and  to  go  without  one  would  have 
boen  to  risk  a  betrayal  of  her  secret.  Monsieur  and  Madame 
L'Egare,  unoccupied  and  loving  change,  were  easily  induced 
to  desire  travel.  It  was  just  the  time  to  visit  the  South ; 
they  had  brought  letters  to  persons  in  Carolina  and  Georgia, 
and  so  all  was  easily  arranged.  But  not  so  easily  accom- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  161 

plished,  for  who  shall  speak  the  misery  of  that  sleepless 
night — the  agony  of  that  parting  hour  ? 

"  Estelle,  you  are  ill,"  said  Euston  Hastings,  as  he  saw 
her  face  at  one  moment  pale  as  death,  at  the  next  wearing 
a  crimson  flush. 

"  111 — I  am  sorry,"  she  answered  vaguely,  having  caught 
the  last  word  without  at  all  understanding  his  meaning. 

"  But  you  should  not  go  thus." 

"  Not  go !"  she  repeated  again,  rallying  her  energies  to 
comprehend  and  reply  to  him.  "  Oh  !  I  do  not  doubt  I 
shall  find  it  very  pleasant,  and  if  I  do  not,  I  can  return,  you 
know." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate  you  must  not  prolong  your  absence 
beyond  June — if  you  do,  I  shall  come  in  search  of  you.  But 
Madame  L'Egare  looks  impatient — so  adieu  ! — Evelyn  will 
be  grieved  that  she  has  not  seen  you." 

He  placed  her  in  the  carriage,  kissing  the  hand  he  held. 
As  the  door  was  closed,  she  drew  her  veil  over  her  face, 
and  waved  her  hand  in  reply  to  his  adieu.  The  coachman 
was  already  on  his  box.  He  flourished  his  whip,  the  horses 
darted  forward,  and  they  were  separated. 

"  So  ends  that  act  of  life's  drama,"  said  Euston  Hastings 
to  himself.  He  was  mistaken,  it  had  not  ended  yet. 

While  Mrs.  Mabury  was  thus  leaving  New  York,  Mary 
Raymond  was  returning  thither  to  encounter  that  very  trial 
from  which  she  fled.  But  she  came  not  in  her  own  strength 
— she  had  humbled  herself  beneath  her  Father's  chastening 
hand,  and  He  had  shed  light  upon  her  path  by  which  she 
saw  love  presiding  over  every  cross.  Not  without  the  most 
lively  emotion  had  she  again  seen  Everard  Irving.  She  had 
acquired  no  stoic  insensibility — she  was  yet  a  loving  woman, 
and  her  heart  had  throbbed  and  her  cheek  flushed  as  of  old 
at  his  words  of  affectionate  greeting.  When,  in  their  first 
private  interview  he  communicated  to  her  his  full  conviction 
14* 


162  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

of  Evelyn's  love,  and  her  father's  changed  purpose  in  relation 
to  their  marriage,  she  si  rank  and  drew  her  breath  quickly, 
as  if  a  sword  had  entered  her  heart ;  but  when  that  first 
pang  had  passed,  she  turned  her  thoughts  resolutely  from 
herself  to  him,  and  soon  with  her  prayers  for  him  arose  a 
thanksgiving  for  herself  that  she  was  able  to  rejoice  in  his 

j°y- 

"  Mary,  you  are  very  much  changed,"  said  Everard  to  her 
one  day,  as  they  sat  alone  together.  She  was  reading,  and 
he  too  held  a  book  ;  but  his  t./e  was  fixed,  not  on  its  pages, 
but  on  her  face,  which,  instead  of  the  listless  melancholy 
stamped  on  it  when  first  we  introduced  her  to  the  reader, 
wore  an  expression  of  serene  beauty.  -  , "  . 

"  My  health  is  much  improved  since  I  parted  from  you," 
replied  Mary. 

"  Yes,  and  that  of  course  has  produced  some  alteration  in 
your  appearance,  but  that  is  not  what  I  mean." 

»  What  then  ?" 

"  Something  not  so  easily  described  as  felt.  I  parted 
from  you  a  dependent,  sometimes  I  thought — pardon  me  for 
it,  Mary — a  wayward  girl,  and  in  these  few  short  months 
you  seem  to  have  started  up  into 

'  A  perfect  woman  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  spirit,  still  and  bright, 
With  something  of  an  angel  light' " 

"  You  have  learned  to  flatter,  I  see." 

"  On  my  honor,  Mary,  I  speak  the  truth  when  I  say  that, 
in  my  opinion  those  lines,  and  especially  the  last  two,  might 
have  been  written  for  you ;  and  as  to  flattery,  you  are  one 
to  whom  I  we  aid  not  dare  to  address  it." 

Mary  turned  av^ay,  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

Everard  Irving  visited  Mr.  Manelli.     He  was  received 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  163 

with  almost  as  much  joy  as  Mary,  who  accompanied  him, 
had  been.  He  was  conducted  to  the  artist's  studio,  and 
saw  there  the  picture,  now  completed,  of  the  "  Death  of 
Socrates." 

"  Do  you  recognise  any  'acquaintance  among  those  fig- 
ures '?"  asked  Aspasie  Manelli,  with  a  smiling  glance  at  her 
father. 

Everard  gazed  long,  but  could  find  none. 

"  You  are  not  so  quick-sighted  as  Miss  Raymond — she 
recognised  an  old  friend  in  Alcibiades  at  once.  Ah  !  you 
see  it  now,  though  you  are  too  modest  to  acknowledge  it." 

"  If  you  mean  that  it  resembles  me,  you  will  not  wonder 
that  I  wish  to  possess  myself  of  such  a  flattering  likeness. 
You  must  sell  me  this  picture,"  he  added,  turning  to  Mr. 
Manelli. 

"  I  cannot — I  have  promised  it  to  Miss  Raymond  al- 
ready." 

"  To  Mary  ! — why,  what  can  you  want  with  it,  Mary  ? — 
You  have  no  house  to  decorate." 

"  But  I  have  some  taste,  I  hope,  to  appreciate  its  beauty, 
and  love  enough  for  Mr.  Manelli  to  value  it  for  its  associa- 
tion with  him,  were  it  far  less  beautiful." 

"  If  it  is  to  be  adjudged  to  the  one  who  has  the  most 
reasons  for  desiring  it,  it  will  be  mine,  Mary ;  for,  added 
to  those  you  have  adduced,  I  have  another  yet  more  pow- 
erful." 

Everard  spoke  smilingly,  and  approaching  Mary,  bent 
his  head  and  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  I  want  it  for  Evelyn, 
she  will  value  that  likeness  so  much." 

What  martyr  at  the  stake  ever  exercised  greater  heroism 
than  is  demanded  from  woman  in  moments  such  as  these ! 

Mary  stooped  as  if  to  remove  a  portfolio  of  engravings 
from  the  floor,  and  as  she  turned  to  the  table  to  replace 
taem,  said  carelessly  to  Mr.  Manelli,  "Mr.  Irving  desires 


164  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

this  picture  so  greatly  that  I  will  withdraw  my  claims  to  it 
on  condition  that  I  have  another  from  your  pencil." 

"Thank  you,  Mary,  you  are  very  kind,"  said  Everard 
gladly ;  "  but,"  he  added  hesitatingly,  looking  at  Mr.  Manelli, 
"  our  friend  here  does  not  appear  quite  satisfied." 

"  Ah,  yes  ! — quite — it  can  make  no  difference  to  me,  you 
know." 

But  it  did  make  some  difference.  Mr.  Manelli  loved 
Mary  as  a  daughter,  and  was  pleased  that  this  child  of  his 
genius  should  belong  to  her.  He  loved  Everard  too,  but 
he  half  suspected  the  meaning  of  that  whisper,  and  felt  that 
the  picture  was  probably  to  become  the  property  of  one, 
who,  while  she  could  derive  no  gratification  from  its  asso- 
ciation with  him,  might  not  have  taste  enough  to  value  it 
for  itself.  Aspasie,  however,  was  soon  won  to  favor  Ev- 
erard's  claim,  when  he  proclaimed  his  design  to  place  the 
picture  in  the  approaching  exhibition  of  the  "  Academy  of 
Arts,"  and  his  conviction  that  it  would  thus  obtain  for  the 
painter  far  greater  advantages  than  any  price  could  confer. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  write,  but  two  steamboats  trav- 
ersed the  waters  of  the  Chesapeake,  and  Everard  was  de- 
tained several  days  waiting  for  one,  which,  proceeding  from 
Norfolk,  should  touch  at  Baltimore,  and  take  Mary  and  him- 
self on  their  way  to  New  York.  While  thus  waiting,  he 
wrote  to  Evelyn,  announcing  the  day  on  which  she  might 
expect  to  see  them,  and  requesting  that  she  would  address 
a  letter  to  him  in  Philadelphia,  where  they  should  remain  a 
night,  informing  him  of  her  father's  present  condition.  On 
his  arrival  in  Philadelphia  a  letter  accordingly  awaited  him, 
but  he  was  deeply  disappointed,  and  at  first  somewhat 
alarmed,  to  find  that  it  was  not  from  Evelyn  but  from  Dr. 
Huntly. 

The  Doctor,  however,  assured  him  that  Evelyn  was  quite 
•well  and  Mr.  Beresford  entirely  iut  of  danger,  though  the 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  165 

effects  of  his  fall  were  still  painfully  visible  in  his  greater 
feebleness  and  frequent  pain  in  the  head,  attributable  prob- 
ably to  the  severe  blow  he  had  received  there.  Dr.  Huntly 
had  other  information  to  give  which  greatly  surprised  Ev- 
erard.  "  Mr.  Beresford's  condition,"  he  wrote,  "  renders  it 
very  desirable  that  he  should  be  near  his  medical  advisers 
for  some  weeks  to  come,  and  he  has  fortunately  been  able 
to  accomplish  this  object  by  a  very  pleasant  arrangement. 
You  will  find  Miss  Beresford  and  himself  at  home  at  Mrs. 
Mabury's  late  mansion.  The  fatigue  of  this  removal  has 
obliged  my  friend  Evelyn  to  employ  me  as  her  amanuensis, 
a  circumstance  which  I  cannot  flatter  myself  will  give  yo'u 
much  pleasure,  and  which  I  doubt  not  the  little  gipsy  her- 
self regrets." 

Mary  and  Everard  knew  not  what  to  think  of  this  infor- 
mation. "  What  has  become  of  Mrs.  Mabury  ?"  was  a 
question  both  often  asked,  and  neither  could,  of  course, 
answer.  It  was  evening  when  they  arrived  in  New  York. 
They  drove  immediately  to  Mrs.  Mabury's,  now  Mr.  Beres- 
ford's. They  were  expected,  and  if  Evelyn  did  not  express 
great  pleasure  in  meeting  them,  all  deficiency  in  her  was 
concealed  by  her  father's  noisy  demonstrations  of  joy.  Yet 
the  house  seemed  sombre  to  Everard.  He  had  seen  it  al- 
ways brilliantly  lighted,  and  generally  with  many  visitors 
moving  about  its  various  rooms.  Now  the  front  of  the 
house  was  dimly  lighted  by  the  hall-lamp  alone,  and  the 
only  room  on  the  first  floor  which  seemed  to  be  occupied 
was  that  formerly  known  as  Evelyn's  boudoir.  He  could 
find  no  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Evelyn  in  private.  Sne 
never  left  Mary  for  a  moment,  and  his  attempts  to  lure  her 
away  she  either  did  not  see  or  would  not  understand. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Mabury?"  was  a  question  which  it  may 
be  supposed  our  travellers  did  not  long  delay. 

The  answer  only  stimulated  their  curiosity. 


166  CHARMS  A\D  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  Gone  to  travel  at  the  South  with  Monsieur  and  Madame 
L'Egare,  and  without  Mr.  Hastings !  Can  they  have  quar- 
relled ?"  was  their  next  inquiry. 

"  Certainly  not,"  Mr.  Beresford  replied,  "  for  he  has  been 
left  her  agent,  and  it  was  with  his  consent,  and  indeed  by 
his  advice,  that  we  have  removed  to  her  house." 

"  He  visits  you  then,"  said  Everard  quickly. 

"  Oh,  yes !  daily ;  indeed  he  has  been  very  attentive  to 
us,  and  has  tried  in  every  way  to  make  us  forget  your  ab- 
sence." 

"He  is  very  kind,"  said  Everard,  but  his  tone  was  cold, 
and  he  glanced  at  Evelyn  with  an  uneasy  sensation  for 
which  he  blamed  himself  the  next  moment.  She  did  not 
meet  his  glance,  for  she  was  at  that  moment  arranging  the 
drapery  of  one  of  the  windows. 

The  little  party  was  assembled  in  Mr.  Beresford's  room 
when  the  clock  struck  nine. 

"We  keep  early  hours,  Everard,  and  I  must  send  you 
away  now,"  said  Mr.  Beresford  ;  "  you  may  come  as  soon  as 
you  please  again  to-morrow." 

"  Surely  you  do  not  retire  at  nine,"  said  Everard  in  a 
low  tone  to  Evelyn,  as  in  obedience  to  this  announcement 
he  rose  to  take  leave  of  Mr.  Beresford  ;  "  can  I  not  see  you 
a  few  minutes  below." 

"  I  have  not  seen  Mary  for  so  long — I  have  so  much  to 
say  to  her,"  she  answered  falteringly.  Everard  urged  her 
no  farther. 

If  Evelyn's  real  motive  for  not  according  this  interview 
was  the  desire  to  converse  with  Mary,  she  probably  was  in- 
duced to  defer  the  gratification  from  her  friend's  apparent 
fatigue,  for  Everard  had  scarcely  gone  before  she  proposed 
withdrawing  to  their  own  apartments,  and  though  she  at* 
tended  Mary  to  hers,  she  remained  there  but  a  short  time 
before  retiring  to  her  own. 


CHABMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  167 

The  room  which  Evelyn  had  destined  to  Mary,  and  which 
she  supposed  had  been  prepared  for  her,  was  in  the  front 
of  the  house,  and  separated  only  by  a  wide  hall  from  Mr. 
Beresford's ;  but  Mary's  old  attendant,  Betty,  had  objected 
to  this  as  too  noisy,  and  had  chosen  instead  to  take  posses- 
sion for  her  young  mistress  of  a  room  in  the  rear  of  the 
house,  opposite  to  Evelyn's,  and  opening,  like  hers,  on  a 
verandah.  Evelyn  herself  pointed  out  this  fact  to  Mary, 
and  also  showed  her  the  gate  which  led  from  the  yard  into 
the  street  on  the  south  side  of  the  house.  "  Now,  Mary," 
she  added,  "  if  you  feel  any  apprehension  at  sleeping  in  so 
accessible  a  room  while  in  this  city  of  house-breakers,  your 
baggage  can  be  easily  transferred  to  the  other  room." 

Mary  assured  her  that  she  was  not  in  the  least  appre- 
hensive since  she  had  herself  remained  unmolested,  though 
exposed  to  the  same  danger,  and  moreover,  that  she  was 
unwilling  to  relinquish  the  comfort  of  a  fire  which  Betty 
had  kindled,  with  a  few  sticks  of  wood  in  the  little  grate, 
where  they  crackled  and  blazed,  sending  forth  a  cheerful 
light,  and  just  warmth  enough  for  the  chilly  but  not  cold 
evening. 

"  As  to  being  disturbed  by  my  fears,"  she  added,  "  I 
doubt  if  a  robber  himself  would  awake  me  to-night,  unless 
he  should  attempt  to  carry  me  off  as  well  as  my  property." 

But  fatigued  as  Mary  was,  sleep  came  not  so  quickly  as 
she  expected.  "  Thought,  busy  thought,"  still  wrought  in 
that  spirit-forge — -the  brain, — now  flashing  its  light  on 
scenes  long  past — now  striving  from  that  black  and  hard 
metal  whereof  her  fortunes  seemed  made,  to  work  out 
forms  of  enduring  beauty.  Time  passes  slowly  with  those 
who  thus  wake  when  they  should  sleep,  and  it  seemed  to 
Mary  as  if  hours  had  been  spent  by  her  in  this  manner, 
when  the  clock  of  a  neighboring  church  chimed  forth  eleven. 
Again  a  long  time  passed — half  an  hour — perhaps  three- 


168  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

quarters — when  she  was  startled  by  a  sound  resembling  a 
step,  sudden,  decided,  like  that  of  a  man  springing  from 
some  height  to  the  floor  of  the  verandah,  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  her,  quite  near  her  own  window.  The  sound  was  so 
distinct  that  Mary  could  not  even  attempt  to  persuade  her- 
self that  it  was  nothing,  but  she  said,  "  It  may  be  a  dog — 
I  will  see  at  least." 

Rising  from  her  bed,  she  advanced  to  the  window  and 
drew  aside  the  drapery.  It  was  very  dark,  for  besides  that 
there  was  no  moon,  and  the  night  was  cloudy,  a  large  tree, 
whose  branches  touched  the  iron  railing  of  the  verandah, 
threw  its  shadow  over  that  portion  of  it  which  Mary's 
window  commanded, — yet  close  to  the  wall  of  the  house, 
in  such  a  position  that  she  could  only  gain  a  partial  view  of 
it,  she  thought,  as  her  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the 
darkness,  that  she  could  distinguish  some  object. 

"  I  could  see  it  better  from  my  dressing-room  window," 
thought  Mary,  and  wrapping  her  cloak  around  her,  she 
proceeded  softly  thither.  There  she  could  see  still  less, 
for  the  Venetian  blinds  were  closed,  but  a  pane  of  glass  was 
out,  and  as  Mary  stood  for  a  moment  with  her  ear  near  the 
empty  space,  she  thought  she  heard  a  whisper.  She  was 
how  thoroughly  alarmed,  but  her  alarm  was  of  that  nature 
which  sharpens  the  senses,  instead  of  dulling  them.  She 
leaned  her  head  forward  so  that  her  ear  touched  the  blind, 
and  instantly  not  only  whispered  sounds,  but  words  became 
audible  to  her.  She  remembered  that  Evelyn  had  told  her 
their  dressing-rooms  adjoined,  and  at  once  it  flashed  on  her 
that  the  Avords  were  spoken  by  some  one  standing  in  the 
verandah,  at  the  window  of  Evelyn's  dressing-room,  and 
consequently  very  near  her  own,  and  that  they  were  ad- 
dressed to  some  person  within  that  dressing-room. 

"  It  was  not  loud  enough,  dearest,  to  awake  any 
one  who  slept,  so  you  need  not  tremble  thus ;  yet  had  I 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  169 

known  she  slept  on  this  side,  I  would  have  been  more 
cautious." 

Mary  sought  in  vain  to  hear  any  thing  again  for  some 
minutes.  Either  the  person  within  the  room  was  speaking, 
or  the  other  leaning  forward,  had  removed  himself  farther 
from  her.  At  length  she  caught  the  words,  "  I  came  pro- 
vided, as  usual,  with  a  serenade,  and  that,  even  in  this  land 
of  formalities,  is  admitted  as  a  valid  excuse  for  as  near  an 
approach  as  bolts  and  bars  will  permit  to  one's  mistress.  If 
I  hear  the  slightest  sound,  I  will  sing.  But  what  has  passed 
between  you  ?" 

All  was  silence  for  a  time,  or  sounds  so  soft  and  so  min- 
gled that  Mary  could  distinguish  nothing ;  then  came  the 
word  "  delay,"  and  after  a  while  more  distinctly,  "  I  must 
help  you,  I  see," — and  then  caught  with  difficulty,  at  inter- 
vals, "  my  serenade" — "ask  questions" — "tell  her  all;" — 
then  followed  a  soft,  earnest,  impressive  "good-night,"  on 
which  the  voice  seemed  to  linger,  as  if  loth  to  end  it ;  then 
longer  stillness — perfect  stillness,  and  then  a  step  stealing 
quietly  away.  Mary  still  remained  at  her  post,  fearing  lest 
any  movement  should  betray  her.  After  a  few  minutes  the 
strings  of  a  guitar  were  struck  lightly,  and  a  rich,  mellow 
voice,  in  a  low  tone,  but  with  very  distinct  enunciation, 
the  following 

SERENADE. 

Sleep,  Eva,  sleep, — though  dark  the  night, 

And  not  a  star  looks  forth  above, 
Around  thee  beams  a  holy  light 

From  Heaven's  own  star — the  star  of  LOVE. 

Sleep,  Eva,  sleep,— the  night  is  still, 

The  breezes  scarce  a  leaflet  move  ; 
Yet  tones  to  which  thy  pulses  thrill, 

Are  floating  round  thee,  breathed  by  lotr*. 
15 


170  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


Sleep,  Eva,  sle^p, — those  breathings  bear 

My  spirit  in  its  raptured  flight, 
To  murmur  in  thy  dreaming  ear 

A  lover's  passionate  good-night. 

The  song  ceased.  Suddenly  the  branches  of  the  tree  be- 
fore Mary  were  violently  moved.  They  bowed  themselves 
and  swept  against  the  iron  railing  as  if  a  tempest  had  agi- 
tated them,  then  became  in  a  moment  quiet  as  ever.  Long 
Mary  listened  and  looked,  but  she  listened  and  looked  in 
vain ;  and  when  convinced  that  this  mysterious  visiter  had 
indeed  departed,  she  retired  again  to  bed — to  bed,  but  not 
to  sleep. 

Who  was  this  visiter,  and — yet  more  important  question 
— by  whom  had  he  been  received  ?  Could  it  be  that  Evelyn 
Beresford — the  guileless,  the  pure — was  thus  false  to  her- 
self, and  treacherous  to  him  to  whom  she  had  pledged  her 
faith  ?  Could  she  have  deceived  the  father  who  trusted  as 
well  as  loved  her, — of  whom  she  had  said  to  Everard  Irving 
that  she  could  not  sleep  with  a  secret  unrevealed  to  him  ? 
Above  all,  could  she  so  betray  the  delicacy,  the  dignity  of 
her  sex  ?  All  this  seemed  incredible  ;  yet  that  any  one 
could  thus  assume  her  name,  and  hold  these  midnight  col- 
loquies even  within  her  hearing,  was  more  incredible  still. 
In  wild  conjectures  much  of  Mary's  night  passed  away,  and 
she  had  had  but  little  sleep  when  Betty's  entrance  warned 
her  that  it  was  time  to  prepare  for  breakfast.  When  she 
descended  to  the  breakfast-room,  Mary  found  Evelyn  await- 
ing her  there.  Even  in  the  dim  light  of  the  preceding  even- 
ing she  had  seen  that  the  months  of  their  separation  had  not 
left  Evelyn  wholly  unchanged.  She  had  grown  taller,  her 
form  had  expanded  into  fuller  proportions,  and  fashion  had 
set  its  seal  upon  her  dress  and  air.  But  now,  by  the  better 
light  of  morning,  it  seemed  to  Mary  that  a  new  character 
had  been  impressed  upon  her  face, — the  brow  betokened 


CHARMS  AND   COUNTER-CHARMS.  71 

thought,  and  the  flexible  lines  of  the  mouth  a  sensibility 
which  had  not  been  awakened  by  pleasure  alone.  As  she  ap- 
proached to  offer  Mary  her  morning  kiss,  there  was  unusual 
hesitation  and  timidity  in  her  manner.  Painfully  undecided 
in  her  impressions  of  last  night's  adventure,  yet  more  unde- 
cided in  the  conduct  she  should  herself  pursue  in  relation  to 
it,  Mary  bent  her  eyes  upon  her  with  an  almost  unconscious 
scrutiny,  beneath  which  Evelyn's  face  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
sank.  When  next  she  raised  them,  they  were  moist  "  with 
unshed  tears."  The  presence  of  servants  rendered  any  con- 
fidential communication  impossible,  and  it  was  probably  a 
relief  to  both  the  friends  when  a  message  from  Mr.  Beres- 
ford  summoned  Evelyn  away.  Before  her  return,  Mary 
had  sought  her  own  room.  Half  an  hour  had  passed  away 
there  in  a  vain  effort  to  interest  herself  in  a  book,  when 
there  was  a  gentle  tap  at  her  door,  and  Evelyn  entered.  She 
was  paler  than  usual,  and  there  was  in  her  face  a  yet  more 
unusual  expression  of  resolution.  She  advanced  to  Mary, 
threw  her  arms  around  her,  and  resting  her  head  upon  her 
shoulder,  looked  up  with  tender  entreaty  in  her  face,  as  she 
said,  "  Do  not  look  so  coldly  on  me,  Mary.  Love  me,"  she 
added,  pressing  closely  to  her  side,  "  for  I  need  your  love 
much,  though  perhaps  you  may  think,  when  you  know  all, 
that  I  do  not  deserve  it." 

Mary,  when  her  own  nature  had  been  ruled  by  passionate 
impulses,  had  found  it  impossible  to  resist  the  pleading  ten- 
derness of  Evelyn's  manner,  and  now  she  yielded  to  it  in- 
stantly, and  for  some  minutes  thought  only  of  soothing,  by 
gentle  words  and  fond  caresses,  the  weeping  girl.  When 
she  saw  her  in  some  degree  restored  to  composure,  she  drew 
a  chair  beside  her  own,  and  said,  "  Now,  Evelyn,  sit  down  by 
me,  and  let  us  speak  calmly  of  what  disturbs  you.  You  said 
just  now  that  when  I  knew  all,  perhaps  I  might  think  you 
undeserving  my  love.  Are  you  going  to  tell  me  this  all  ?" 


172  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Evelyn's  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  issued  from  them. 

"Evelyn,"  said  Mary,  binding  forward  and  pressing  her 
lips  u.  Evelyn's  cheek,  "  if  you  had  a  mother,  you  would 
speak  to  her.  Is  it  not  easier  to  speak  to  a  sister — to  one 
scarcely  older  and  not  less  faulty  than  yourself?" 

"  Ah,  Mary  !  if  that  were  so — but  you  have  never 
loved." 

Evelyn's  voice  was  almost  lost  as  she  pronounced  these 
last  words,  yet  Mary  heard  them,  and  a  blight  flush  rose 
to  her  cheeks. 

"At  least,  Evelyn,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  I  do  not  consider  love  a  fault." 

"  But  it  may  lead  us  into  faults — can  you  excuse  these 
for  its  sake  ?" 

"  Does  love — a  true  love — lead  to  faults — to  conscious 
faults  ?  It  seems  to  me,  dear  Evelyn,  that  it  can  have  its 
source  only  in  the  excellence  of  another,  and  that  it  leads 
to  excellence  in  ourselves.  It  may  bring  into  evident  life 
the  selfish  and  evil  principles  of  our  nature,  but  it  is  by  its 
struggle  with  them ;  and  as  love  conquers  we  are  purified, 
and  ever — ever — it  leads  us  into  higher,  holier  life." 

There  was  something  so  impressive  in  Mary's  tone,  that 
Evelyn  raised  her  drooping  head,  and  looked  up  into  her 
face.  Its  expression  was  lofty,  as  if  she  had  herself  ex- 
perienced the  purifying  influence  of  which  she  spoke,  and 
had  herself  been  led  into  that  higher,  holier  life.  It  was 
an  expression  which  did  not  encourage  Evelyn  in  her  in- 
tended confession,  and  shaking  her  head  sadly,  her  eyes 
again  fell  in  silence  to  the  ground. 

"Evelyn,"  asked  Mary,  "do  you  reject  me  as  your 
sister  ?" 

Evelyn  answered  by  a  silent  embrace. 

"  Can  there  be  love  without  confidence,  Evelyn  ?  But  I 
will  make  your  confidence  easier  to  you.  I  hoped  to  have 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  173 

had  it  all  unsought  when  you  came  to  me — but  I  see  you 
cannot  easily  trust  me." 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  trust  you— but  I  fear  you  too." 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  know  how,  with  me,  frank- 
ness covers  all  faults.  Listen  to  me  now,  however,  and 
you  will  find  that  you  have  not  so  much  to  tell  as  you 
think ;  but  first  come  near  me,  as  you  did  just  now — put 
your  arm  around  my  neck,  your  head  upon  my  shoulder, 
your  other  hand  in  mine — now  tell  me  who  it  was  that  last 
night  sang  beneath  your  window,  and  with  whqm,  before 
he  sang,  you  talked  from  your  dressing-room  ?  Ah,  Ev- 
elyn !  I  would  not  be  a  true  sister  to  you,  if  I  did  not 
join  my  voice  to  the  true  and  delicate  instincts  which 
make  you  hide  your  head  within  my  bosom  at  the  mem- 
ory of  that  scene.  It  was  wrong,  Evelyn,  not  to  yourself 
only — " 

"Mary,  was  it  very  wrong  thus  to  meet  one  whom  I 
have  promised  one  day — soon — very  soon — to  marry  ?" 
whispered  Evelyn. 

"To  marry!"  exclaimed  Mary,  "you  surely  would  not 
say,  Evelyn,  that  your  last  night's  visiter  was  Everard 
Irving  ?  No,  no — I  know  his  voice  too  well  for  this — nay, 
more,  I  know  his  heart  too  well — know  that  no  selfish 
gratification  could  make  him  thus  forgetful  of  the  honor 
and  delicacy  of  her  he  loved  !  No,  Evelyn — it  was  one 
less  noble  than  he." 

Evelyn  had  withdrawn  from  Mary's  arms  while  she 
spoke,  and  now  stood  before  her  with  flushed  brow  and 
flashing  eyes, — friendship,  shame,  all  forgotten, — nothing 
remembered  but  her  love. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  said  passionately,  "  in  one  thing — 

it  was  not  Mr.  Irving ;    but  you  are  mistaken  in  all  else, 

— for  it  was  one  nobler  far  than  he — one  whose  intense 

feelings  spurn  the  cold  calculations  which  govern  him — 

15* 


174  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

whose  loftier  intellect  suffers  not  the  world's  opinions  to 
control  his  actions — " 

It  had  been  strange  to  see  that  gentle,  timid  being 
wrought  to  such  passionata  boldness, — but  stranger  still 
was  the  instantaneous  change  in  her  countenance  and  atti- 
tude, the  sudden  pause  in  her  torrent  of  words,  as  she 
caught  the  echo  of  a  quick  step  approaching,  and  after  a 
tap  at  the  door,  heard  a  glad  voice  calling — "Mary,  is 
Evelyn  with  you  ?  I  have  a  message  for  her  from  h°,r 
father?"  g 

There  was  eager  haste  in  the  tones,  as  if  the  message 
was  one  Everard  Irving  liked  well  to  bear.  Mary's  heart 
was  stung,  but  it  was  for  him  she  suffered.  Evelyn  caught 
her  sad  and  reproachful  glance,  and  in  an  instant  she  was 
beside  her,  pressing  her  hand  in  hers  while  she  exclaimed 
— "  Oh,  Mary  !  forgive  me — pity  me — for  I  am  well-nigh 
mad — what  shall  I  do  ? — I  dare  not  see  him." 

"I  am  coming,  Everard,"  cried  Mary,  in  answer  to  his 
repeated  calls.  "  Be  quiet,  Evelyn,  you  shall  not  see  him 
till  you  are  more  calm,  but  I  must  speak  to  him." 

She  advanced  to  the  door,  while  Evelyn  shrank  cowering 
away  to  the  remotest  part  of  the  room,  lest  she  should  be 
seen.  Opening  the  door,  Mary  said,  "Evelyn  cannot  see 
you  now,  Everard,  but  if  you  will  go  to  the  parlor,  she  will 
come  to  you  there  in  a  few  minutes." 

She  commanded  herself  to  speak  calmly,  yet  she  could 
not  banish  from  her  tones  and  manner  so  much  sadness, 
that  had  Everard  been  less  engrossed  by  his  own  joyful 
emotions,  he  must  have  perceived  it.  As  it  was,  he  answered 
with  a  saucy  smile,  which  told  at  once  his  confidence  and 
joy,  "  I  go,  but  tell  her  I  shall  exact  a  forfeit  for  every  five 
minutes'  delay." 

"  And  r.ow,  Evelyn,"  said  Mary,  as  she  turned  aga'Ji  to 
her,  "  gc  to  him  and  tell  him  the  truth — the  whole  truth  • 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  175 

but,  oh  Evelyn !  tell  it  to  him  gently.  You  know  him  not 
— Ls  feared  to  startle  your  timid  nature  by  pouring  out  his 
whole  passionate  soul  before  you ;  but  he  loves  you  as  only 
the  delicate  and  true-hearted  love.  Fear  not  for  yourself, 
for  he  is  generous  and  will  forgive  you,  if  even  now  you 
speak  the  truth  to  him ;  but,  oh  Evelyn  !  I  pray  you,  speak 
it  tenderly,  or  you  will  break  his  heart." 

Had  Evelyn's  own  emotions  left  her  any  power  of  ob- 
serving another's,  she  would  have  gazed  with  surprise  on 
Mary,  but  a  moment  since,  so  calm,  so  elevated  above  all 
earthly  passion  as  she  seemed ;  and  now  so  wildly  earnest, 
so  vehement  in  her  entreaties.  The  intensity  of  her  feelings 
increased  Evelyn's  fears.  She  began  to  feel  somewhat  of 
the  responsibility  which  she  had  assumed  by  her  engagement 
with  Everard  ;  began  to  be  aware  how  fearful  a  thing  it  was 
to  permit  a  human  heart  so  to  link  itself  to  her  that  all  its 
hopes  and  joys  should  hang  suspended  upon  her,  and  then 
to  dash  them  to  the  earth  and  crush  them  into  nothingness. 
Trembling  and  pale  she  approached  the  door,  opened  it,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  irresolute  upon  its  threshold,  then 
shi  inking  back,  closed  it  again,  and  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands,  exclaimed,  "  Mary,  I  cannot  look  on  him,  I  can- 
not tell  him — it  will  kill  me." 

"  Evelyn,  if  you  will  not  go,  I  must ;  he  shall  not  be  left 
logger  to  such — " 

"  And  will  you  go,  dear  Mary  ?"  interrupted  Evelyn  be- 
fore she  could  proceed  farther,  "  will  you  go  ?  Oh !  how  I 
bless  you  for  the  thought !  Go,  I  pray  you,  go  without 
delay ;  but,  oh  Mary  !  let  him  not  hate  me — I  knew  not 
myself  when  I  listened  to  him — I  understood  not  what  he 
asked.  Pray  him  to  forgive  me — without  his  forgiveness  I 
shall  be  wretched  forever." 

Mary  scarcely  heard  her — she  was  struggling  for  strength 
to  deal  a  blow,  the  heaviest,  the  most  terrible  that  earthly 


176  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

hand  could  inflict,  on  th°  heart  of  him  she  loved  so  well. 
Suddenly  she  freed  hei  .-elf  from  Evelyn's  caressing  arm, 
and  falling  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  bowed  her  head  on 
it  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then  rising,  she  withdrew  slowly 
from  the  room  without  a  word. 

As  Mary  opened  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  Everard 
sat,  he  turned  quickly  towards  her,  with  a  countenance 
beaming  with  gladness.  It  was  somewhat  clouded  at  per- 
ceiving that  it  was  not  Evelyn  who  entered. 

"  Where  is  Evelyn,  Mary  ?  Did  you 'give  her  my  mes- 
sage ?" 

"  I  did,  Everard." 

"  And  why  does  she  not  come  ?  It  is  unkind  in  her  to 
try  me  thus." 

At  this  moment  the  gravity  of  Mary's  manner  appeared 
to  attract  his  observation,  and  he  added,  "  Is  any  thing 
the  matter  with  you,  Mary  ?  Did  you  wish  to  see  me 
first?" 

"  Not  on  my  own  account,  Everard  ;  but  I  did  wish  to 
see,  to  speak  with  you  of  yourself,  of  Evelyn." 

"  And  what  would  you  say  of  Evelyn  ?  Speak  freely, 
as  a  dear  sister  should — but  speak  quickly  too,"  he  added 
with  a  smile. 

The  more  joyful  Everard  seemed,  the  more  difficult  did 
Mary  feel  her  task  to  be.  She  hastened  to  speak  at  his 
command,  but  her  first  words  seemed  to  have  little  connec- 
tion with  that  which  she  had  come  to  reveal. 

"  A  sister  should  indeed  speak  freely  to  a  dear  brother — 
a  dear  and  only  brother.  Dear  Everard — my  brother  Ev- 
erard, have  you  ever  felt  how  tender  a  tie  this  is  ?  a  tie 
•which  no  earthly  circumstances  can  change,  which  sorrow 
can  only  draw  nearer?" 

"  Yes,  Mary,  I  have  felt  all  its  sweetness  and  its  power ; 
and  even  now,  blest  as  I  am  in  Evelyn's  love,  my  happiness 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  177 

would  be  but  half  complete  if  I  could  not  share  it  with  you. 
You  will  live  with  us,  Mary  ;  you  will  be  our  sister." 

"  But,  Everard,  is  this  tie  of  brother,  dear  brother,  such 
that  it  could  give  some  sweetness  to  life,  if  you  were  disap- 
pointed of  other  affection  ?  If  even  now  your  bright  hopes 
were  quenched,  could  you  find  some  solace  in  knowing  that 
to  one  heart — to  my  heart — you  are  dearer  than  any  other 
earthly  object,  that  I  live  in  your  life,  rejoice  in  your  joy, 
and  would  think  nothing  a  sacrifice  whereby  I  might  shield 
you  from  the  touch  of  sorrow  '?" 

Mary  had  drawn  nearer  and  nearer  to  Everard  as  she 
spoke,  till  she  stood  just  before  him,  with  both  his  hands 
clasped  in  hers,  her  eyes,  which  were  riveted  upon  his  face, 
full  of  tears,  and  her  voice  of  a  tenderness  to  which  no 
words  could  give  entire  expression. 

"  And  you  love  me  thus,  Mary  ?"  questioned  Everard, 
surprised  at  such  intensity  of  feeling  in  one  whom  he  had 
sometimes  in  his  heart  accused  of  coldness,  and  conscious 
that  his  love  for  her  could  bear  no  comparison  with  the  emo- 
tions she  described. 

"  Yes,  Everard ;  and  yet  I,  who  would  rather  die  than  see 
you  suffer — I  must  inflict  on  you  such  pain !  Oh,  Everard  ! 
I  have  such  words  To  speak  to  you,  as  you  would  rather  see 
me  in  my  grave  than  hear." 

"  Is  Evelyn  ill — dead,  Mary  ?" 

"  No — no,  Everard — think  what  is  worse  than  the  death 
of  those  we  love." 

"  Their  dishonor,"  said  Everard,  with  a  blanched  cheek. 

"  Or  their  faithlessness." 

With  that  irritability  which  the  first  touch  of  sorrow  en- 
genders, Everard  withdrew  his  hands  from  Mary,  and  said, 
in  a  sharp,  bitter  tone,  "  Mary,  I  do  not  understand  riddles 
— would  you  tell  me  that  Evelyn  has  ceased  to  love  me  ?" 

"She  says,  Everard,  that  she  misunderstood  her  own 


178  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

feelings  when  she  professed  to  love  you,  or,  rather,  when 
she  consented  to  receive  you  as  her  lover." 

"  It  is  false !"  burst  from  the  half-maddened  Everard, 
with  wild  impetuosity ;  but  restraining  himself  with  a  pow- 
erful effort,  he  added,  more  calmly,  "  But  one  other  question 
answered,  and  I  shall  have  heard  all — does  she  love  an- 
other ?" 

"  She  does." 

"  The  curses  of  a  broken  heart  be  upon  them  !  May  he 
prove  as  false  to  her — " 

He  could  not  proceed,  for  Mary's  hand  was  upon  his  lips. 
He  tore  it  thence,  and  threw  her  from  him  with  such  force, 
that  she  only  saved  herself  from  falling  by  catching  at  a 
table  for  support.  The  next  instant  she  was  again  at  his 
side,  pleading,  "  Strike  me,  Everard,  if  you  will,  but  hear 
me  !  Others  have  been  false  to  you,  be  you  true  to  your- 
self. If  yoii  can  wish  evil  to  Evelyn,  because  of  injury  done 
to  you,  it  is  only  your  own  happiness  you  have  loved  in  her, 
and  you  are  wholly  unworthy  of  her  love  ;  but  I  know  it 
has  not  been  so :  you  have  loved  her  worthily,  generously, 
and  now,  though  your  heart  break  at  her  desertion,  you  will 
not  wish  her  evil — you  will  wish  her  good,— you  will  do  her 
good,  and  thus  take  the  only  revenge  which  a  noble  mind 
can  desire." 

"  Do  her  good ! — forgive  her  !  If  you  have  told  me  truth, 
it  is  impossible." 

"  Difficult,  but  not  impossible — not  impossible  to  a  noble 
mind — not  impossible  to  you.  Besides,  Everard,  when  the 
first  shock  has  passed,  when  you  are  able  to  think  calmly — " 

"  Calmly  !"  ejaculated  Everard,  with  bitterness. 

Mary  proceeded  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him — "  When 
you  are  able  to  think  calmly  of  all  that  has  passed,  you  will 
feel  that  Evelyn — " 

"  Name  her  not,  if  you  woul  I  not  madden  me." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  179 

"  I  must  name  her,  Everard.  I  must  in  justice  say  that 
she  is  less  blameworthy  than  you  will  be  at  first  disposed  to 
think  her." 

"  That  is  right,  Mary ;"  and  Everard  laughed  bitterly. 
"  That  is  right — defend  her — it  would  be  folly  indeed  to 
cling  to  the  friend  whom  all  are  deserting." 

"  I  do  cling  to  you,  Everard,  and  that  the  more  closely, 
because  others  have  deserted  you.  Nothing  is  dearer  to  me 
than  your  happiness,  except  your  worth.  I  do  not  defend 
Evelyn,  but  I  will  be  just  to  her,  and  I  do  not  believe  she 
has  ever  willingly  deceived  you.  I  believe  she  loves  you, 
though  not  as  you  love  her.  Her  calm  affection  might  have 
made  her  happy  with  you,  had  npt  another  awakened  a 
more  passionate,  a  profounder  emotion." 

"  And  this  other — who  is  he  ?" 

"  I  know  not." 

Everard  bent  his  head  in  his  clasped  hands,  and  remained 
for  some  minutes  perfectly  still.  When  he  looked  up  again, 
the  flush  which  his  face  had  so  lately  worn  was  gone,  and 
his  eyes  were  heavy. 

"  Mary !"  he  exclaimed,  "  this  seems  some  wild  fancy  of 
yours — I  cannot  believe  it  while  I  remember  Evelyn's  terror 
at  my  danger  and  joy  at  my  safety — a  fortnight — little  more 
— such  change  is  impossible.  Mary  !  if  you  would  not  see 
me  mad,  let  me  see  Evelyn — I  pray  you  let  me  see  her — 
only  from  her  own  lips  can  I  receive  this !  Do  not  answer 
me,  Mary,  but  go  for  her." 

"  I  will  go,  Everard — I  will  bring  her  here ;  but  oh,  Ev- 
erard !  for  your  own  sake  do  not  see  her  now — wait — " 

"  Mary,  you  have  never  known  the  agony  of  doubt,  or 
you  could  not  talk  to  me  of  waiting.  For  what  should  I 
wait  ?" 

"  For  the  power  to  control  your  passion,  Everard,  and  to 
act  out  your  own  generous  nature.  Everard,  I  would  have 


180  CHASMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Evelyn  know  that  your  love  was  not  a  selfish  passion — I 
would  have  her  recognise  the  nobleness  of  the  spirit  she  has 
wounded." 

"  Do  not  fear  that  I  shall  he  harsh  to  Evelyn,  Mary — I 
may  have  been  so  to  you ;  but  to  her — only  let  me  hear  the 
truth  from  her  lips." 

Mary  did  not  find  it  an  easy  task  to  persuade  Evelyn  to 
accompany  her,  but  her  firmness  at  length  gained  the 
victory. 

"  If  you  will  go  with  me,  Mary,"  said  Evelyn.  Mary 
answered  by  drawing  her  friend's  arm  through  her  own, 
and  leading  her  to  the  room  in  which  Everard  awaited  her. 

"  You  will  come  in  with  me,"  said  Evelyn — but  Mary 
only  crossed  the  threshold,  and  disengaging  her  arm, 
stepped  back  and  closed  the  door  after  her.  Everard  Ir- 
ving, on  being  left  alone,  had  thrown  himself  upon  a  sofa, 
and  clasped  his  hands  over  his  eyes  in  a  vain  effort  to  ar- 
range his  wildly- confused  thoughts.  At  the  opening  of 
the  door  he  started  up,  and  one  glance  of  Evelyn's  eyes 
had  shown  him  standing  opposite  to  her,  and  gazing  on 
her,  as  if  upon  her  next  movement  his  fate  hung  sus- 
pended. Her  eyes  were  instantly  cast  down  with  fear  and 
shame,  and  she  stood  where  Mary  had  left  her,  motion- 
less— a  breathing  statue.  They  remained  thus,  perhaps, 
while  one  could  have  counted  ten  slowly,  and  then  Everard 
spoke  in  low,  sad  tones. 

"  Evelyn — I  see  that  Mary  told  me  truth.  I  could  not 
believe  her  words — but  your  looks  confirm  them  :  you  never 
feared  before  to  meet  my  eye,  Evelyn." 

Still  she  stood  silent,  trembling  before  him. 

"  How  long  is  it,  Evelyn,"  he  resumed — "  a  fortnight  I 
think — rsinoe  your  life  seemed  to  hang  on  the  assurance  of 
my  safety  ?  Was  that  only  seeming,  or  is  this  a  dream  ? 
For  Heaven's  sake  answer  me,  Evelyn,"  he  added  vehe- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  181 

mently,  after  a  short  pause ;  "  answer  me  if  you  would  not 
have  me  go  mad." 

"  What  shall  I  say,  Mr.  Irving — to  what  shall  I  answer  ?" 
faltered  Evelyn. 

"  Your  terror  on  the  day  of  your  father's  accident — your 
wild  questioning — your  joy — was  all  this  acting?  was  there 
no  truth  in  it  ?" 

"  It  was  all  true,  Mr.  Irving  ;  but  you  may  remember  I 
never  named  you,  and  it  was  not  you  whom  I  supposed  to 
be  with  my  father." 

«  Whom  then  ?" 

Everard  had  approached  quite  near  to  Evelyn,  yet  twice 
her  lips  moved  before  he  could  catch  the  faintly  breathed 
"  Mr.  Hastings." 

"  Mr.  Hastings  !  Evelyn,  that  name  realizes  my  worst 
fears :  but  you  do  not  know  him,  Evelyn — ask  of  himself 
what  are  his  religious  sentiments." 

"  I  know  them  already — he  told  them  to  me  unasked," 
exclaimed  Evelyn  eagerly,  anxious  only  to  show  her  lover's 
frankness. 

"  You  know  them,  Evelyn !  Know  that  he  is  a  scoffer  at  all 
things  sacred — that  for  him  there  is  no  God — nothing  spiritual 
in  the  universe,  that  even  in  you  he  sees  no  soul — know  this, 
and  love  him,  and  give  yourself  to  him !  Can  this  be  possible?" 

Evelyn  shrank  before  that  severe,  searching  eye,  and 
almost  scornful  smile,  but  she  strove  to  assume  a  com- 
posure which  she  did  not  feel  as  she  replied,  "  It  would  be 
hard,  I  think,  to  discard  a  friend  for  mere  errors  of  judg- 
ment." 

"And  do  you  call  those  mere  errors  of  judgment,  Evelyn, 
which  place  all  enjoyment  in  the  gratification  of  the  appe- 
tites and  passions — which  make  life  a  revel,  and  its  holiest 
ties  but  means  of  sensual  pleasure  ?  Evelyn,  do  you  know 
that  to  Euston  Hastings,  the  marriage  vow  is  a  senseless 
16 


182  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

mockery,  to  wl  :oh  what  he  terms  the  tyranny  of  society 
compels  him  to  submit!" 

A  crimson  flush  rose  to  Evelyn's  very  temples,  and  as 
she  turned  her  head  aside  Everard  saw  that  her  lip  quivered. 

"  Heaven  knows,  Evelyn,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  I  would 
not  willingly  give  you  pain,  but  I  could  not  disguise  from 
you  that  such  is  reported  to  be  Mr.  Hastings'  opinion.  Ask 
him  if  it  be  so,  Evelyn — promise  me  that  you  will  ask 
him — not  for  my  sake — my  hope,  my  happiness  is  at  an 
end  forever — but  for  your  own  sake.  Will  you  not  prom- 
ise me,  Evelyn  ?  I  ask  it  as  a  last  favor." 

"  I  will,  Mr.  Irving." 

Everard  had  now  heard  all — said  all ;  he  must  now  go. 
How  often  in  that  very  room  had  he  parted  from  her  but 
for  a  few  hours — a  day  at  most — and  yet  parted  not  with- 
out clasped  hands,  and  whispered  words  of  tenderness ! — 
now  he  went  forever — and  he  must  go  coldly,  silently.  It 
seemed  impossible:  he  approached  her  hurriedly,  but,  he 
remembered  that  she  was  another's,  and  moved  as  hurriedly 
away  :  at  the  door  he  turned — she  was  looking  towards 
him,  and  their  eyes  met ;  with  one  emphatic  gesture  he 
commended  her  to  Heaven — the  next  instant  the  door  closed 
on  him — they  had  parted. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  183 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  My  love  doth  so  approve  him 
That  even  his  stubbornness,  his  checks  and  frowns 
Have  grace  and  favor  in  them." 

SHAKSPEARE. 

SOME  hours  after  Everard  Irving's  departure,  in  the  same 
ooudoir  which  had  been  the  scene  of  such  bitter  suffering 
to  him,  stood  Euston  Hastings  awaiting  Evelyn,  to  whom  a 
servant  had  gone  to  announce  his  presence,  When  Evelyn 
came,  he  approached  her  with  a  man's  glove,  which  he  had 
found  on  the  carpet,  in  his  hand. 

"  You  look  sad,  my  Eva,  but  I  will  not  ask  you  why — Mr. 
Irving  has  been  here  I  see,"  showing  the  glove. 

"  He  has." 

"  And  knows  all  ?" 

Evelyn  did  not  answer — tears  rushed  into  her  eyes,  and 
she  turned  her  head  aside  to  hide  them  from  her  com- 
panion. 

"  Fy,  Eva  ! — I  shall  be  jealous  if  you  turn  away  from  me 
to  weep  for  him." 

Euston  Hastings  put  his  arm  around  Evelyn,  and  leading 
her  to  the  sofa,  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"  Now,  Eva,  tell  me  all.  Has  Mr.  Irving  relinquished  all 
claim  on  your  hand,  now  that  he  knows  your  heart  is  not 
his?" 

"  He  has — we  have  parted  forever,"  said  Evelyn  in  an 
unsteady  voice,  while  a  tear  slowly  trickled  down  her  cheek. 

Euston  Hastings  kissed  it  away,  as  he  said,  "  There  is  no 


184  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

forever,  Eva — all  things  cease,  ant1  so  will  your  and  Mr. 
Irving's  estrangement ;  you  will  be  excellent  friends  agran 
one  day — perhaps  he  may  even  marry  my  widow." 

Evelyn  could  not  smile  at  what  seemed  to  her  a  most 
untimely  jest.  She  replied  gravely — "  A  friend,  I  doubt 
not,  Mr.  Irving  will  always  be  to  me.  Even  this  morning, 
in  the  midst  of  his  own  keen  suffering,  he  thought  of  me — 
of  my  happiness — " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  and  most  disinterestedly,  no  doubt,  warned  you 
against  a  marriage  with  me — was  it  not  so  ?" 

Evelyn  hesitated,  and  stammered  out  a  confused  and 
almost  contradictory  answer,  "  He  had  not  warned  her — 
but  he  had  doubted — had  been  afraid — " 

"In  short,  Evelyn,"  interrupted  Euston  Hastings,  "he 
has  succeeded  in  introducing  into  your  heart  '  that  ugly 
treason  of  mistrust.'  Come,  confess — it  is  your  only  chance 
for  mercy," — he  continued,  smiling  gayly,  and  playfully 
bending  his  head  that  he  might  look  into  her  downcast 
face. 

"  No,  no — I  have  no  mistrust — no  treasonable  thought 
against  you  to  confess; — but  he  exacted  a  promise  from 
me — I  could  not  refuse  him — he  asked  it  as  a  last  fa- 


Evelyn  spoke  timidly,  apologetically,  and  paused  without 
naming  the  promise  she  had  made. 

"  Well,  Eva — what  was  your  promise  ?" 

"  To  ask  you  a  question." 

"  And  what  is  the  question  ?" 

"  Will  you  not  be  angry  with  me  ? — Will  you  remember 
that  I  ask  it  to  fulfil  a  promise  to  another  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  be  angry  with  you,  Evelyn,  ask  what  question 
you  will,  but  I  do  not  promise  to  answer  your  question  :  if 
it  relate  wholly  to  myself,  you  are  entitled  to  an  answer, 
and  shall  have  it ;  but  if  it  con  promise  another — " 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  185 

"  It  does  not — H  relates  wholly  to  yourself — to  your 
opinions." 

"  My  opinions  on  what  subject  ? — I  thought  I  had  told 
you  all  in  them  which  such  orthodox  thinkers  as  Mr.  Irving 
could  blame." 

Euston  Hastings  spoke  with  a  sneer,  but  there  was  a 
slight  flush  upon  his  cheek  and  an  expression  of  anxiety  in 
his  eye  as  he  waited  Evelyn's  answer,  nor  were  either  of 
these  diminished  when  he  heard  it. 

"  I  told  Mr.  Irving  that  you  had  voluntarily  acquainted 
me  with  your  religious  sentiments,  but  he  wished  me  to  ask 
what  were  your  views  in  relation  to  marriage." 

There  was  a  slight  pause  during  which  Evelyn  did  not 
dare  to  raise  her  eyes,  before  Euston  Hastings  answered,  "  I 
did  not  know  Mr.  Irving  had  so  much  subtlety — that  he 
could  exercise  such  ingenuity  in  his  malice,  Evelyn — but 
with  all  his  subtlety  he  has  not  penetrated  into  your  pure 
and  noble  soul  as  I  have,  love.  He  does  not  know  that  this 
soft  heart,  which  flutters  like  a  prisoned  bird  beneath  my 
hand,  is  companioned  by  a  mind  too  expansive  for  narrow 
creeds  or  childish  prejudices.  I  answer  you  with  confi- 
dence, because  I  know,  such  is  your  affinity  with  purity 
and  truth,  that  you  will  discover  them  though  they  appear 
in  forms  which  conventionalism  condemns ;  and  I  tell  you 
without  disguise,  as  Mr.  Irving  believed  I  would,  that  I 
think  marriage  unnecessary  to  secure  fidelity  where  there  is 
love,  and  insufficient  where  there  is  not.  Do  you  think, 
dear  Eva,  that  the  promise  made  to  a  man  who  has  been 
decorated  with  a  certain  dress  and  called  a  priest,  will  be 
more  binding  on  us  than  those  which  we  have  made  to 
each  other,  when  all  else  on  earth  was  forgotten, — or  that 
I  shall  love  you  better  for  having  stood  beside  you  in  a 
building,  which  they  call  a  church,  and  told  others  that  you 
were  dear  to  me  ?  No,  Evelyn ;  for  your  sake — because  a 
16* 


186  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

false  system  of  society  would  frown  on  you,  if  you  were 
mine  without  this  form — do  I  submit  to  its  mockery ;  but 
I  acknowledge  to  you  that  the  delicacy  of  my  love  is  of- 
fended by  unveiling  itself  to  other  eyes  than  these  dear 
ones ;"  and  Euston  Hastings  gently  touched  with  his  lips 
the  drooping  lids  of  Evelyn's  eyes. 

A  faint  smile  passed  over  her  lip,  but  her  eyes  were  still 
downcast,  for  such  sophistry  could  neither  convince  the  un- 
derstanding, nor  awaken  in  the  heart  that  glad  spring  of 
emotion  which  follows  the  removal  of  a  painful  doubt  re- 
specting one  we  love.  Yet  when  Euston  Hastings  asked  if 
she  were  satisfied,  or  if  Mr.  Irving's  insidious  question  had 
sundered  their  hearts,  the  hand  which  she  placed  in  his — 
the  glance  which  for  an  instant  met  his  earnest  gaze,  seemed 
to  leave  him  no  cause  for  apprehension.  There  was  doubt- 
less a.  secret  fear  lurking  in  the  depths  of  Evelyn's  heart, 
but  how  could  she  venture  to  express  that  which  would  have 
proved  to  her  lover  that  her  intellect  was  less  expansive, 
or  her  affinity  with  purity  and  truth  less  close  than  he 
thought  ?  Accustomed  to  test  every  thing  by  the  appro- 
bation of  those  she  loved,  her  own  true  instincts  were  now 
regarded  as  narrow  prejudices,  to  be  concealed  with  care. 

Spring  flowers  were  in  Evelyn's  bridal  bouquet,  and  the 
chill  mornings  and  evenings  still  rendered  fires  necessary, 
when  Euston  Hastings  led  her  to  Beresford  Hall — his  wife ; 
for  so  easily  did  his  strong  will — guided  by  the  single  aim, 
his  own  pleasure — mould  all  to  his  wishes,  that  in  less  than 
a  month  from  Mr.  Beresford's  first  acquaintance  with  his  love 
for  his  daughter,  he  stood  with  her  before  God's  holy  altar, 
and  pronounced  those  vows  which  were,  from  him,  a  mock- 
ery. At  Evelyn's  earnest  entreaty,  Mary  accompanied  her 
to  the  altar.  A  gay  crowd  surrounded  her.  All  eyes  in 
that  crowd  were  fixed  on  the  dark  face  of  Euston  Hastings, 
—generally  so  cold  and  grave,  now  lighted  up  by  a  proud, 


CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  187 

triumphant  joy, — -and  on  the  lovely  creature  at  his  side  ;  but 
even  while  Mary  looked  upon  them,  a  far  different  vision 
rose  before  her, — a  vision  of  a  tonely  exile  wandering  from 
land  to  land,  with  no  aim,  no  hope  save  forgetfulness. 

Everard  Irving  had  not  been  seen  by  any  of  Mr.  Beres- 
ford's  family  since  his  last  agitating  interview  with  Evelyn. 
A  week  after  that  interview  Mary  sent  a  note  to  the  hotel 
at  which  he  had  his  rooms,  making  some  unimportant  in- 
quiry a  veil  to  her  real  object — her  desire  to  hear  from  him. 
Her  messenger  brought  back  the  note,  "  Mr.  Irving  had  left 
the  city."  This  was  -all  her  information  till  the  day  before 
Evelyn's  marriage,  when  a  box,  containing  Mr.  Manelli's 
painting  of  the  Death  of  Socrates,  was  left  at  Mr.  Beresford's, 
with  a  letter  from  Everard  Irving  to  her,  requesting  her  ac- 
ceptance of  it  as  a  parting  present  from  him. 

"  When  you  receive  this,"  he  wrote,  "  I  shall  already  have 
sailed  for  England.  Whither  I  shall  go,  how  long  I  shall 
stay,  or  whether  I  shall  ever  return,  are  questions  which  I 
cannot  answer.  I  have  but  one  desire — forgetfulness.  In 
pursuit  of  this  I  hasten  away.  I  cannot  promise  to  write 
even  to  you,  Mary,  kind  as  you  have  been  to  me,  for  you  are 
linked  with  the  scenes  I  would  forget.  Think  of  me  as  of  the 
dead,  if  you  think  of  me  at  all.  Adieu." 

"  Unkind  Everard  !  Thou  forbiddest  me  even  to  sorrow 
with  thee — at  least  thou  canst  not  prevent  my  praying  for 
thee,"  was  the  language  of  Mary's  heart,  when  she  read  this 
letter. 

Mary  longed  to  escape  from  New  York.  The  associations 
of  her  life  there  were  all  painful,  and  these  temporary  and 
accidental  circumstances  so  weighed  upon  her  spirit,  that 
they  pressed  it  down,  from  the  region  of  infinite  truth  and 
beauty,  into  their  own  sphere.  She  could  not  sympathize 
with  the  joy  that  was  around  her,  not  only  because  the 
shadow  of  the  deserted  and  banished  Everard  darkened  her 


188  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

soul,  but  because  she  saw  in  Evelyn  but  a  beautiful  victim 
decked  for  sacrifice.  True,  she  now  held  to  her  lips  life's 
most  intoxicating  draught.  She  loved  with  all  the  romantic 
devotion  of  a  young,  warm  heart,  and  her  life  was  nourished 
every  moment  by  the  passionate  tenderness  of  the  object  ol 
that  love.  Clasped  in  his  arms,  lighted  by  his  looks  of  love, 
she  danced  gayly  on  her  flowery  path — forgetful  of  the  past, 
heedless  of  the  future.  Even  Mr.  Beresford  appeared  to 
have  no  perception  but  for  his  Evelyn's  joyous  tones  and 
iOoks ;  while  Mary  remembered  that  Euston  Hastings  was 
an  unbeliever  and  a  libertine,  and  shuddered  at  the  black 
clouds  which  hung  over  her  friend's  future,  and  which  she 
feared  veiled  an  abyss  of  anguish. 

At  her  solicitation,  Mr.  Beresford  consented  that  she 
should  return  to  Baltimore,  and  even  accompanied  her 
thither  himself,  but  a  few  days  after  Evelyn's  marriage. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER  CHARMS.         189 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  Bright  one  !  oh,  there  well  may  be 
Trembling  midst  our  joy  for  thee." 

HEMANS. 

IF  the  first  few  months  of  Evelyn's  wedded  life  were 
not  cloudless,  neither  were  they  without  many  sunny  hours. 
Eight  weeks,  passed  in  the  retirement  of  Beresford  Hall,  had 
realized  all  her  dreams  of  bliss.  Euston  Hastings,  her  hus- 
band, still  remained  her  lover,  finding  an  ever- varying  charm 
in  calling  forth  the  timid  manifestations  of  her  almost  idola- 
trous devotion  to  him.  Just  as  he  was  beginning  to  feel  the 
first  approach  of  ennui  in  his  quiet  life,  a  letter  was  received 
by  him  from  Mrs.  Mabury,  which  informed  him  that  she 
was  at  Saratoga  with  Monsieur  and  Madame  L'Egare,  and  a 
party  of  friends  who  had  accompanied  them  from  the  South. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  a  trip  to  Saratoga,  Eva  ?"  he 
asked,  smilingly,  as  he  finished  reading  this  letter,  and  re- 
folding it,  placed  it  in  his  pocket-book.  "  Mrs.  Mabury  is 
there." 

"  I  would  rather  stay  at  home,"  answered  Evelyn,  reflect- 
ing his  smile. 

"  Would  you  ? — then  I  shall  set  out  to-morrow,  for  if  you 
do  not  go,  I  shall  need  no  time  for  preparation." 

"  And  will  you  go  without  me  ?"  asked  Evelyn,  while  the 
color  rose  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  heart  swelled. 

"  What  can  I  do,  if  you  would  rather  stay  at  home  ?  You 
would  not  have  me  insist  on  your  going,  would  you  ?"  asked 


190  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS 

Euston  Hastings,  playfully.  "I  value  freedom  too  much 
myself  to  take  it  from  my  Eve,"  he  added,  as  he  drew  her 
to  his  knee.  He  would  have  kissed  her,  but  Evelyn  avert- 
ed her  face,  and  he  continued — "  Even  in  that  you  shall  be 
free — you  shall  not  kiss  me  unless  you  like  it." 

His  gay  nonchalance  was  more  bitter  to  Evelyn  than  any 
harshness  could  have  been ;  for  indifference  from  those  we 
love  is  far  more  intolerable  than  anger.  She  struggled  to 
free  herself  from  his  light  clasp.  He  looked  with  a  careless 
smile  upon  her  vain  efforts,  till  he  felt  a  tear  upon  his  hand. 
In  an  instant  his  brow  grew  dark,  and  releasing  her,  he  rose 
himself,  and  said  sternly,  "  Evelyn,  if  you  expect  to  bend 
me  to  your  will  by  tears,  you  greatly  mistake  me ;  your 
smiles  are  much  more  powerful  over  rr»e,  and  it  is  as  well 
that  you  should  learn  at  once  that  the  effect  of  your  tears 
will  always  be  to  drive  me  from  you." 

Evelyn,  who  had  never  before  been  addressed  in  a  harsh 
tone, — whose  lightest  sorrow  had  always  been  tenderly 
soothed, — sobbed  bitterly. 

"  Good-morning,  Evelyn — I  shall  see  you  at  dinner,  and 
if  you  meet  me  with  smiles,  I  shall  only  desire  to  kaow  your 
wishes  in  order  to  gratify  them,  if  it  be  possible  " 

His  retreating  steps,  as  he  immediately  left  the  room,  fell 
painfully  on  Evelyn's  ear.  "  But  he  is  only  trying  me,"  sb* 
whispered  to  herself;  "  he  will  come  back  again — he  canncf 
leave  me  thus." 

A  few  minutes  passed,  and  she  heard  a  horse  galloping 
rapidly  away.  She  hastened  to  the  window,  and  saw  Eus- 
ton Hastings  riding  off  in  the  direction  of  the  city.  Th? 
hours  between  this  and  dinner  were  passed  by  Evelyn  in  al- 
ternations of  feeling,  produced  by  pride  and  tenderness — the 
first  scarcely  drying  the  tears  upon  her  cheek  before  the  last 
would  cause  them  to  flow  afresh.  When  dinner  was  an- 
nounced, her  eyes  were  swollen  and  her  dress  in  disorder. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  191 

She  bathed  her  face  in  cold  water,  and  hastily  adjusting  her 
dress,  descended  to  the  dining-room.  Believing  her  father 
alone,  she  paused  a  moment  at  the  door,  to  assume  a  cheer- 
ful air ;  but  on  opening  the  door,  her  eyes  rested  on  Euston 
Hastings,  and  the  forced  smile  at  once  vanished  from  her 
lips,  and  her  brow  became  clouded  as  before.  Euston  Hast- 
ings looked  steadily  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  turned  away 
without  speaking,  with  a  slight  smile  upon  his  lip.  When 
the  little  party  was  seated  at  table,  Mr.  Beresford  observed 
that  there  was  unusual  silence,  and  tried  to  begin  conversa- 
tion. 

"  How  far  did  you  ride  ?"  he  asked  of  Euston  Hastings, 
after  obtaining  only  monosyllabic  replies  to  several  questions 
addressed  to  Evelyn. 

"  To  the  city — where  I  think  I  shall  return  this  afternoon 
— probably  for  the  night,"  said  Euston  Hastings. 

"  For  the  night !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Beresford,  with  surprise. 
"  Are  you  going  too,  Evelyn  ?" 

Evelyn  could  not  answer ;  she  felt  that  an  effort  to  speak 
would  only  have  caused  a  fresh  burst  of  tears :  perhaps 
Euston  Hastings  perceived  it  too,  for  he  answered  for  her, 
"  No — Evelyn  will  not  go  with  me.  I  hoped  she  would 
prevent  my  going,  but  I  see  she  thinks  it  cannot  be  avoid- 
ed." 

This  was  said  very  significantly,  and  Evelyn  understood 
him ;  but  self-control  was  an  unpractised  lesson  with  her, 
and  she  would  in  vain  have  striven  to  exercise  it  now. 
There  was  not  a  particle  of  sullenness  in  Evelyn's  nature. 
She  had  never  been  for  a  moment  displeased  by  a  friend 
without  being  ready  to  throw  herself  on  the  loved  one's 
bosom,  and  give  and  take  the  kiss  of  reconciliation;  but 
friendly  arms  must  be  held  out  to  her,  and  gentle  wcids 
and  looks  must  woo  her  to  them.  Now,  the  indifference 
which  had  wounded  her  was  unatoned  for,  unexcused,  in- 


192  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

creasingly  manifest ;  for  while  her  hands  trembled,  her  color 
rapidly  flushed  and  faded,  and  she  was  scarce  able  to  re- 
press her  tears  even  in  presence  of  the  servants,  Euston 
Hastings  became  suddenly  talkative,  and  entertained  Mr. 
Beresford  with  easy  gayety,  while,  though  not  addressing 
Evelyn,  he  was  observant  of  every  courteous  attention  to  her. 
Amused  as  Mr.  Beresford  was  by  his  animated  descriptions 
and  gay  sallies,  they  could  not  wholly  divert  him  from  the 
observation  of  Evelyn's  evident  agitation,  and  as  soon  as  the 
servants  had  withdrawn,  he  put  his  arm  around  her  as  she  sat 
near  him,  and  said  tenderly,  "  My  poor  Eva  !  have  you  been 
weeping  all  the  morning  because  Mr.  Hastings  must  leave 
you  again  ?" 

Evelyn  dropped  her  head  upon  her  father's  shoulder,  and 
sobbed  aloud,  unable  to  resist  the  influence  of  that  sympa- 
thy for  which  she  would  not  ask.  With  all  his  indulgence 
for  Evelyn,  Mr.  Beresford  felt  such  sorrow  to  be  greatly 
disproportioned  to  the  cause  which  he  supposed  to  have 
excited  it,  and  he  would  have  made  some  apology  to  Eus- 
ton Hastings  for  her  folly,  but  when  he  looked  up  to  do  so, 
he  was  not  in  the  room,  having  withdrawn  from  it  at  the 
moment  of  Evelyn's  first  outburst  of  emotion.  Bending 
caressingly  over  Evelyn,  he  said  to  her  very  tenderly,  "  My 
dear  daughter,  a  woman's  tears  are  the  most  trying  of  all 
things  to  a  man  of  feeling.  Mr.  Hastings  will  be  very  un- 
happy if  he  finds  you  so  miserably  agitated  by  such  slight 
causes.  For  his  sake  you  must  endeavor  to  control  this 
excessive  sensibility.  Hark  !  I  hear  his  step  in  the  library 
now — go  to  him  there,  Eva,  and  show  him  that  you  can 
command  yourself.  Come,  let  me  wipe  away  your  tears, 
and  see  you  smile,  before  you  l^ve  me." 

Evelyn  had  wept  herself  into  something  like  composure, 
and  she  smiled,  though  faintly,  on  her  father. 

"  That's  my  good  girl — now  go,"  said  he  encouragingly ; 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


but  Evelyn  still  hung  upon  him,  and  passing  his  arm 
around  her,  he  led  her  to  the  library  door,  and  disengaging 
himself  from  her,  tapped  gently  upon  it,  and  passed  on. 

"  Walk  in,"  cried  Euston  Hastings,  but  Evelyn  had  not. 
courage  to  turn  the  latch  and  enter.  He  approached  the 
door.  Evelyn's  heart  sank  lower  with  every  footfall.  The 
door  was  open,  yet  she  stood  still  with  downcast  eyes. 

"  Come  in,  Evelyn,  if  you  wish  to  speak  to  me,"  he  said 
gently,  but  coldly. 

Evelyn  entered,  but  neither  raised  her  eyes  nor  spoke. 
Taking  out  his  watch,  he  looked  at  it  and  said,  "  I  am 
sorry  to  hurry  you,  Evelyn,  but  I  have  little  time  to  spare  if 
I  go  to  the  city  this  evening — pray  let  me  hear  what  you 
have  to  say."  • 

"  I  cannot  speak  to  you  while  you  are  so  cold,  so  dis- 
tant," murmured  Evelyn. 

"  I  told  you  this  morning,  Evelyn,  that  your  tears  would 
drive  me  from  you,  yet  you  made  no  effort  to  restrain 
them,  as  the  face  with  which  you  met  me  at  dinner  plainly 
showed." 

"  How  could  I  help  weeping  when  you  left  me — left  me 
in  anger !" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  the  next  instant  her  head 
was  resting  on  his  bosom.  He  did  not  repulse  her,  yet 
neither  did  he  respond  to  her  embrace. 

"  Only  love  me,  and  I  will  promise  never  to  weep  again," 
whispered  Evelyn,  while  her  lip  again  quivered,  and  the 
tears  against  which  she  was  vowing,  lay  glittering  in  her  eyes. 

Ha  looked  down  on  her — a  smile  dawned  on  his  face, 
and  clasping  her  to  him,  he  said,  "  You  are  a  spoiled  child, 
and  I  must  bear  with  you,  I  suppose." 

"  And  you  will  not  go  to  Saratoga  and  leave  me  ?"  and 
Evelyn  looked  up  to  him  with  eyes  bright  with  her  happiest 
smiles. 

17 


194  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"Artful  like  all  your  sex,"  said  he,  while  lavishing  ca- 
resses on  her — "  the  moment  of  reconciliation  is  that  in 
which  you  expect  to  have  every  thing  conceded ;  but  I 
must  go  to  Saratoga,  Eva.  I  will  not  leave  you,  however, 
if  you  will  go  too — will  you  ?" 

il  I  will  go  anywhere  with  you." 

"  Yet  you  said  this  morning  you  would  rather  stay  at 
home." 

"  It  would  not  be  home  unless  you  stayed  too." 

"  Foolish  child  !"  he  called  her,  yet  still  he  smiled  on  her, 
and  Evelyn  was  happy. 

"  You  will  never  look  coldly  on  me  again,"  said  she  softly, 
as  he  murmured  tender  words  in  her  ear. 

"  Nay — nay,  Eva — taking  advantage  of  me  again  !  why 
you  are  an  arrant  intriguer — but  I  will  make  no  promises. 
I  love  you  very,  very  much,  my  Eva,  but  I  love  my  free- 
dom yet  more,  and  you  must  leave  me  at  liberty — wholly 
at  liberty — if  you  would  retain  your  power  over  me,  and 
always  remember  that  I  consider  tears  a  direct  attack  oa 
my  freedom,  and  will  escape  from  them  if  I  can." 

The  morning  had  scarcely  been  a  period  of  greater  agita- 
tion to  Evelyn,  than  the  afternoon  of  this  day  was  to  her 
father. 

"  My  poor  Eva !  lier  happiness  has  been  brief  indeed," 
he  repeated  often  to  himself. 

He  thought  not  of  blaming  Euston  Hastings — he  re- 
membered how  often  tears  had  stood  on  his  own  Evelyn's 
cheek  when  he  would  have  coined  his  blood  into  gold  to 
gratify  her  lightest  wish,  and  he  pitied  Euston  Hastings 
almost  as  much  as  he  did  himself  or  Evelyn.  It  was  with 
trembling  anxiety  that  he  waited  their  appearance  at  the 
tea-table.  They  came,  and  he  saw  in  a  moment  that  the 
storm  had  passed  away  for  the  present.  Evelyn's  face 
was  radiant  with  joy,  and  its  radiance  was  reflected  from 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  195 

that  of  Euston  Hastings.  The  intended  visit  to  Saratoga 
was  announced  this  evening,  and  nothing  occurred  in  the 
few  days  before  their  separation  to  reawaken  his  anxiety  for 
Evelyn's  peace. 

Evelyn  soon  felt  that  even  with  Euston  Hastings  at  her 
side,  she  Avas  little  at  home  in.  the  gay  crowds  of  Saratoga, 
while  Mrs.  Mabury,  eminently  fitted  for  such  a  scene, 
seemed  there  more  beautiful,  more  fascinating  than  ever. 
Her  society  had  never  been  SQ  delightful  to  Euston 
Hastings.  Once  again  he  found  himself  with  a  compan- 
ion for  his  subtle  intellect,  and  his  world-encrusted 
heart.  With  her  he  resumed  those  half-revelations  of  feel- 
ing— those  philosophico-sentimental  conversations  which 
would  have  suited  little  the  clear,  transparent  mind  of  Mr. 
Beresford,  or  the  childlike,  sportive,  all-confiding  Evelyn. 
To  these  conversations  Evelyn  could  scarcely  be  called  a 
listener,  though  she  was  often  present  at  them,  feeling  no 
want  of  companionship  with  Euston  Hastings,  while  seated 
at  his  side,  where  she  could  turn  her  questioning  eyes 
to  his,  if  her  opinion  was  asked  either  of  a  plan  of 
amusement  or  on  some  graver  subject,  and  where  a  kindly 
smile  from  him  could  occasionally  show  that  she  was  not 
forgotten.  Sometimes  too,  the  conversation  would  assume 
a  more  common-place  tone — subjects  of  a  more  general  in- 
terest would  be  introduced,  and  an  appeal  would  be  made 
to  her,  more  frequently  by  Mrs.  Mabury  than  by  Euston 
Hastings,  and  for  the  purpose,  as  Evelyn  thought  in  after- 
times,  of  eliciting  differences  rather  than  similarities  of  sen- 
timent. 

"You  have  seen  life  under  a  new  aspect  since  we 
parted, — I  mean  in  your  visit  to  the  southern  states.  How 
did  it  impress  you?"  said  Euston  Hastings  to  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury. 

"  Delightfully,"  she  replied,  "  I  found  there  the  spring 


196  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

of  the  poets  ; — «all  my  senses  were  gratified,  for  the  woods 
were  wreathed  with  jessamines  aid  carpeted  with  violets, 
sweet  perfumes  were  ever  floating  around  me,  and  the 
mocking-birds  made  the  air  vocal  with  their  rich  melody." 

"  But  sights  and  sounds  and  odors,  scarcely  give  us  an 
idea  of  life — you  must  have  gone  deeper  than  these  in 
your  two  months'  residence  there.  Tell  me  of  the  people — 
I  have  heard  that  they  were  not  so  enterprising  as  the 
people  on  this  side  of  the  Potomac,  that  there  was  less  im- 
migration amongst  them,  and  I  have  supposed  therefore 
that  society  was  not  so  completely  in  its  transition  state, 
that  it  had  acquired  more  consistency,  a  more  distinctive 
character." 

"  You  are  right." 

"  And  what  is  that  character  ?" 

"  Tell  me  your  speculations  respecting  it,  and  I  will  tell 
you  if  they  are  correct." 

"  I  have  supposed  that  they  had  a  great  deal  of  the  in- 
dolent, dreamy  poco-curantism  of  the  Italians." 

"  They  have — but  it  is  mingled  with  a  great  deal  of 
French  vivacity  and  impulsiveness  ;  and  at  the  base  of  both, 
,lies  no  small  measure  of  the  mastiff-like  resolution  of  old 
England." 

"  It  seems  a  singular  medley,  yet  I  think  I  can  trace  its 
causes  in  their  ancestry,  their  climate,  and  their  peculiar 
social  institutions." 

"  If  you  want  an  illustration  of  my  meaning,  the  lady 
who  is  sitting  alone  at  that  farther  window  will  furnish  me 
with  one.  See  how  listlessly,  with  what  a  dreamy  air 
she  lounges  in  that  Spanish  chair.  Could  any  Italian  have 
seemingly  a  better  appreciation  of  the  dolce  far  nienie  ? 
yet  a  proposal  for  a  party  of  pleasure  or  an  appeal  to  her 
generous  emotions,  would  be  like  a  spark  to  gunpowder- 
she  would  be  all  alive  in  an  instant,  wild  with  ga-yety  or 


CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  197 

energetic  in  feeling  and  action ;  and  I  assure  you  I  do  not 
know  a  more  resolute  person  in  the  support  of  her  own 
opinions  and  principles." 

"  Then  you  think  I  should  not  find  another  Italy  at  the 
south  ?" 

"  Ko,  neither  in  the  climate  nor  in  the  social  aspect  of 
life — there  is  more  variableness  in  the  one,  more  activity  in 
the  other." 

"  Italy  for  me  then — it  is  the  land  of  enjoyment  without 
labor.  For  one  who  feels  as  I  do  the  brevity  of  life — 
the  worthlessness  of  those  aims  which  bound  themselves  to 
our  present  horizon,  and  the  absurdity  of  those  which 
would  pass  beyond  it,  there  is  no  land  like  Italy ;  for  there 
pleasure  flows  in  on  us  through  every  sense  without  a 
struggle  or  a  care.  I  shall  return  there  yet." 

"What  do  you  say  to  that,  Evelyn?"  asked  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury. 

"  To  visiting  Italy  ? — I  should  be  delighted  with  it^' 

"  With  a  visit,  doubtless — but  if  it  is  to  be  your  home  ?" 

Evelyn's  eyes  had  turned  to  Euston  Hastings,  and  with 
the  rose  in  her  cheek  deepening  to  crimson,  she  answered, 
"All  lands  are  alike  to  me." 

"  '  With  thee,  love,'  your  eyes  added,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury, 
with  a  laugh  which,  silvery  and  graceful  as  it  was,  brought 
a  yet  richer  glow  into  Evelyn's  face,  and  somewhat  annoyed 
Euston  Hastings. 

"  You  must  teach  your  eyes  more  discretion,  Eva,"  Mrs. 
Mabury  added,  "  if  you  would  not  figure  in  a  new  comedy 
of  '  The  Honey-moon,'  or  see  yourself  dfsplayed  in  the 
frontispiece  of  some  magazine  as  'Uepome  amoreuse,  a 
correct  likeness  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  E.  H.' — for  here  we 
have  both  authors  and  painters  in  search  of  subjects." 

Evelyn  was  too  timid,  too  fearful  of  ridicule  to  hear  such 
raillery  unmoved,  or  to  reply  to  it  as  it  deserved.  Too 
17* 


198  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

delicate  to  offend  the  most  fastidious  by  a  display  of  her 
affection  for  her  husband,  it  had  yet  diffused  its  spirit  over 
her  every  look  and  movement,  and  Euston  Hastings  had 
felt  all  the  charm  of  her  enhanced  beauty,  and  of  that 
varying  manner  in  which  his  own  changing  moods  were 
faithfully  mirrored.  Now,  her  graceful  freedom  of  action 
was  lost.  Those  soft  eyes,  lighted  by  love  so  pure, 


That  from  their  ray 


Dark  vice  would  turn  abashed  away," 

no  longer  sought  his  with  gentlt,  confidence  ;  and  her  man- 
ner became  constrained  into  a  very  unimpressive  equanimity. 
In  the  mean  time,  Mrs.  Mabury  devoted  herself  to  him  as 
to  a  valued  friend  from  whom  she  had  been  long  sepa- 
rated ; — often  deserting  the  bevy  of  admirers,  whom  her 
remarkable  style  of  beauty,  her  captivating  manners  and 
uncommon  conversational  powers,  attracted  around  her,  for 
a  t$le-fi-t£te  with  him,  either  in  a  corner  of  the  crowded 
saloon,  or  in  a  stroll  on  the  piazza.  Evelyn  often  stole 
from  Madame  L'Egare  and  the  little  coterie  into  which  she 
had  drawn  her,  to  her  own  room,  and  there  Euston  Hastings 
sometimes  found  her,  and  lingered  an  hour  with  her,  while 
Mrs.  Mabury  was  resting  after  a  long  walk  or  preparing  for 
dinner.  In  such  hours  Evelyn  was  perfectly  happy. 

"When  shall  we  go  home?"  she  asked  of  him  in  one  of 
these  interviews, — "  I  long  to  be  there  once  more." 

"  I  thought  all  places  were  alike  to  you,"  he  answered 
smilingly. 

"  Only  when  with  tl>fe,  love"  said  Evelyn,  playfully, 
yet  with  girlish  diffidence  hiding  her  eyes  on  his  shoul- 
der. 

"  And  are  you  not  with  me,  now  ?" 

"  Now — this  moment — but  the  next,  perhaps — " 

"  The  next  you  may  be  with  me  too,  if  you  will ;  for  I 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  199 

have  promised  Mrs.  Mabury  to  sing  with  her,  and  I  want 
you  to  applaud  me." 

When  Evelyn  descended  to  the  saloon  with  Euston  Has- 
tings, she  found  Mrs.  Mabury  there,  the  centre  of  a  little 
group  of  curious  idlers,  whom  the  sound  of  her  harp- 
strings,  as  she  tuned  them,  had  drawn  thither.  Those 
whom  curiosity  had  brought,  were  enchained  by  delight  as 
Euston  Hastings  and  Mrs.  Mabury  sang.  The  sweet  sounds 
attracted  other  listeners,  and  amongst  them  Signer  Fan- 
tocci,  an  Italian  professor  of  music,  who  had  come  to  Sara- 
toga with  the  hope  of  finding  some  employment  •  for  his 
powers,  at  a  time  when  the  city  was  a  profitless  field.  The 
signer  was  loud  in  his  praises. 

"  But  do  not  some  of  these  other  ladies  sing  my  country's 
beautiful  songs  ?  Your  lady,  does  she  not  sing,  sir  ?"  he 
asked  of  Euston  Hastings. 

"  She  sings,  and  sweetly  too,"  he  answered,  glancing  at 
Evelyn ;  "  but  her  voice  is  not  powerful  enough  for  Italian 
music — simple  ballads  suit  her  best." 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Hastings,  for  differing  from  you,"  said 
Miss  Howard,  the  young  lady  from  the  South  to  whom 
Mrs.  Mabury  had  once  directed  his  attention  as  an  illustra- 
tion of  southern  character, — "I  think  Mrs.  Hastings  has 
voice  enough  for  any  music ;  what  she  wants  is  courage  to 
give  her  voice  free  scope." 

Euston  Hastings  did  not  like  the  lady's  tone,  and  a  cold 
bow  was  his  only  reply. 

Miss  Howard  was  a  woman  of  ardent  temperament,  pos- 
sessing at  twenty-four  all  the  enthusiasm  of  sixteen, — an 
enthusiasm  which  her  knowledge  of  the  world  had  directed 
without  repressing.  She  had  never  been  attracted,  as  most 
others  were,  by  Mrs.  Mabury.  She  admired  her  beauty, 
her  talents,  her  tact, — but  she  said  to  her  friends,  "  She 
wants  nature — she  is  too  artificial"  To  Evelyn,  on  the 


200  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


contrary,  her  heart  had  opened  at  once.  She  had  sought 
her  acquaintance,  and  amused  many  an  hour  that  would 
otherwise  have  passed  heavily  to  Evelyn,  with  descriptions 
of  her  home,  and  its  peculiar  modes  of  life.  Having  more 
decided  opinions  than  Evelyn  on  matters  of  conduct,  she 
had,  perhaps,  felt  more  for  her  than  she  had  yet  done  for 
herself  on  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Mabury's  monopoly  of  Eus- 
ton  Hastings.  This  had  given  a  certain  tone  to  her  praise 
of  Evelyn's  musical  abilities,  which  was  not  altogether 
pleasing  to  him. 

As  he  turned  away  from  her  to  propose  another  song  to 
Mrs.  Mabury,  she  said  to  Evelyn,  "  I  have  a  little  plot,  in 
which  you  must  assist  me." 

"  Willingly,  if  I  can,"  replied  Evelyn  ;    "  what  is  it •?" 

"  Step  aside  here,  and  speak  lower — it  is  a  secret.  Your 
husband  has  piqued  me.  I  must  prove  to  him  that  I  am 
right  in  my  judgment  of  your  powers,  and  this  I  am  sure 
I  can  do,  if  you  will  consent  to  take  lessons  of  Signor  Fan- 
tocci." 

Evelyn  hesitated,  and  said  in  an  embarrassed  manner — 
"  Mr.  Hastings  will  think  me  so  vain,  for  fancying  myself 
equal  to  Italian  music." 

"  But  Mr.  Hastings  is  to  know  nothing  about  it — at  least, 
not  at  present.  Do  not  shake  your  head  till  you  have 
heard  my  plan.  We  will  take  my  mother  into  our  con- 
fidence— you  shall  take  your  lessons  quite  privately  in  one 
of  our  apartments  ;  and  when  you  have  mastered  the  most 
difficult  of  Signor  Fantocci's  bravuras,  we  will  invite  Mr. 
Hastings  to  one  of  our  concertos,  and  astonish  him  by  a 
discovery  of  your  attainments." 

Evelyn  no  longer  oljected — in  truth,  the  little  plot  was 
delightful  to  her,  and  she  readily  promised  to  do  all  in  her 
power  for  its  successful  accomplishment,  provided  Miss 
Howard  could  secure  her  mother's  countenance,  and  Signor 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  201 

Fantocci's  services  and  secrecy.  These  were  easily  obtained, 
and  Evelyn,  the  morning  after  this  conversation,  commenced 
her  lessons.  We  have  said  that  music  was  a  passion  with 
her,  and  that  her  voice  had  been  highly  cultivated,  though 
not  in  this  particular  style.  Her  voice  had  been  thought, 
by  more  than  Euston  Hastings,  to  want  power ;  but  this 
was  because  the  ballad-music,  which  she  preferred,  seldom 
demanded  force.  Now,  with  an  almost  unconscious  rivalry 
of  Mrs.  Mabury,  she  put  forth  all  her  powers ;  and  her 
first  hour's  practice  delighted  her  friends,  and  drew  forth 
the  most  extravagant  commendations  from  Signor  Fantocci. 
In  a  week  Miss  Howard  would  have  made  her  experiment 
on  Euston  Hastings,  but  the  fearful  Evelyn  pleaded  for  yet 
another  week's  delay. 

"  I  cannot  make  the  attempt  before  Mr.  Hastings  till  I 
am  quite  sure  of  success.  I  must  sing  his  favorite  song 
at  least  as  well  as  Mrs.  Mabury  before  he  hears  me,"  she 
said,  with  a  laugh  which  belied  her  heart's  earnestness. 

Miss  Howard  would  scarcely  have  consented  to  this  delay, 
had  not  Evelyn's  wishes  been  supported  by  the  opinion  of 
the  friend  to  whose  matured  and  sober,  yet  cheerful  mind, 
she  referred  every  important  question  of  her  own  life — her 
mother.  ,.  v.  - 

"Mrs.  Hastings  is  right,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Howard  to 
her  impatient  daughter.  "  I  too  should  be  sorry  to  have  Mr. 
Hastings  hear  her  till  she  is  quite  equal  to  Mrs.  Mabury. 
Indeed,  with  her  sensitiveness,  I  shall  tremble  for  her  first 
experiment  even  then.  I  wish  he  could  hear  her  without 
her  own  knowledge." 

"  That  would  indeed  be  capital — and  why  can  it  not,  be  so? 
I  can  take  Mrs.  Hastings  and  the  signer  into  the  inner  room, 
and  you  can  invite  Mr.  Hastings  here.  The  only  difficulty 
will  be  to  keep  that  Mrs.  Mabury  from  coming  with  him ; 
but  you  can  accomplish  it,  I  am  sure." 


202  CHARMS  AND  COUNTE'l-CHARMS 

Mrs.  Howard  smiled  at  her  daughter's  enthusiasm,  but 
did  not  refuse  her  aid  in  the  little  plot. 

A  few  days  after  this  conversation,  Miss  Howard  invited 
Evelyn  and  SignOr  Fantocci  into  the  inner  room,  saying  her 
mother  was  expecting  a  visitor  who  might  interrupt  their 
proceedings.  Their  little  concerto  proceeded  as  usual.  Ev- 
elyn accompanied  herself  on  the  guitar,  which,  with  a  few 
directions  from  the  signor,  had  become  quite  an  effective 
instrument  in  her  hands.  Miss  Howard  seemed  rather  dis- 
trait at  first,  as  if  she  listened  with  a  divided  mind.  At 
length  a  step  was  heard  in  the  outer  room,  and  Mrs.  How- 
ard's voice  uttered  a  few  sentences  in  somewhat  suppressed 
tones.  Miss  Howard  immediately  recovered  all  her  powers 
of  attention. 

"  Now,  Evelyn  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  let  us  have  Mr.  Has- 
tings' favorite." 

Evelyn  complied,  and  unembarrassed  by  any  agitating 
emotion,  gave  forth  her  rich,  clear,  round  voice,  in  all  its 
power.  The  signor  sang  with  her. 

"  Encore — encore  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Howard,  as  they  con- 
cluded ;  "  but  solo  now,  Evelyn,  and  do  your  best." 

Evelyn,  with  a  playful  remonstrance  on  her  friend's  un- 
reasonable exactions,  complied  with  her  request.  Her  voice, 
now  soft  and  low,  sank  into  the  heart's  depths,  awakening 
its  sleeping  passions,  and  now  rose  full  and  clear,  up,  up, 
bearing  the  soul  of  the  hearer  on  the  wings  of  song.  As 
she  commenced  the  second  stanza,  a  deep-toned  voice — not 
Signor  Fantocci's — accompanied  hers.  She  turned  to  look 
for  the  singer  with  thrilling  nerves,  for  she  thought  there 
was  but  one  such  voice,  and  there,  beside  her  chair,  stood 
Euston  Hastings.  She  had  paused  in  her  song,  but  he  con- 
tinued singing,  smiling  pleasantly  upon  her,  and  again  she 
joined  him.  There  was  a  slight  tremor  at  first  perceptible 
in  her  tones,  but  it  was  not  sufficient  to  mar  their  effect,  fo* 


CHARMS  AN!   COUNTER-CHARMS.  203 

his  smile  and  the  expression  of  his  eyes  had  silenced  all 
apprehensions. 

"  Bravo,  Evelyn  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  she  concluded.  "  I 
never  heard  that  better  sung,  even  in  Italy ; — but  what  in- 
spired you  with  such  a  bappy  thought  as  applying  to  Signer 
Fantocci,  who  certainty  deserves  great  credit  for  your  in- 
struction ?" 

The  signer  was  not  the  least  pleased  of  the  party.  He 
bowed  again  and  again  in  reply  to  the  compliment  of  Eus- 
ton  Hastings,  and  said,  "  Ah,  sare !  it  was  you  inspire  the 
happy  thought.'  You  praise  Mrs.  Maberri,  and  it  make 
vestra  signora  jealous — jealousy  inspire  her." 

The  red  blood  rushed  impetuously  to  the  dark  brow  of 
fiuston  Hastings,  and  he  darted  an  almost  fierce  glance  at 
Evelyn.  Fortunately,  she  did  not  perceive  it,  but  her  friend 
Miss  Howard  did,  and  hastened  to  avert  the  threatened 
storm. 

"  You  must  study  the  niceties  of  our  language,  signor," 
she  said  to  the  Italian.  "  You  say  Mrs.  Hastings  was  jeal- 
ous, but  that  is  not  what  you  mean — you  should  say  she 
was  emulous." 

"  Emulous — what  is  that  ?" 

"  That  she  was  anxious  to  do  as  well  as  Mrs.  Mabury, 
and  setting  her  delightful  singing  up  as  her  model,  would 
not  be  satisfied  till  she  had  equalled  it." 

"  Ah  ! — yes — that  was  it — emulous — I  thank  you  to  tell 
me  how  I  should  say  it." 

His  thanks  were  a  less  pleasing  reward  to  Miss  Howard  than 
the  restored  serenity  of  Euston  Hastings'  countenance,  and 
his  evident  pleasure  in  Evelyn's  exercise  of  what  was  to  him  a 
new  gift.  He  sang  with  her  again  and  yet  again,  complimented 
Miss  Howard  on  her  true  appreciation  of  her  powers,  and  at 
last  expressed  the  wish  that  Mrs.  Mabury  could  hear  her. 
Mrs.  Howard  requested  that  he  would  go  in  search  of  Mrs. 


204  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Mabury,  and  bring  her  there.  Evelyn  would  have  remon- 
strated against  this,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  her,  and  in  a 
very  few  minutes  Mrs.  Mabury  entered,  leaning  on  his  arm. 
Scarcely  pausing  to  reply  to  the  courteous  salutations  of 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Howard,  she  exclaimed,  "  Pray,  Eva,  begin 
— I  am  impatient  to  hear  this  wonderful  voice  which  your 
good  fairy,  Miss  Howard,  has  bestowed  on  you." 

There  was  something  unpleasing  to  Evelyn  in  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury's  tone — especially  in  her  pronunciation  of  the  words 
"  your  good  fairy,  Miss  Howard  ;"  and  more  courageous  for 
her  friend  than  for  herself,  she  replied,  with .  a  glow  at  her 
heart  and  on  her  cheek,  "  Miss  Howard  has  been  my  kind, 
partial  friend,  and  that  sometimes  proves  as  useful  a  charac- 
ter as  a  good  fairy." 

Mrs.  Mabury  listened  to  Evelyn's  singing  with  smiles  on 
her  lips,  and  bitterness  in  her  heart.  For  the  first  time 
something  nearly  approaching  to  dislike  for  her  unconscious 
rival,  threatened  to  take  the  place  of  the  pity  with  which, 
we  have  said,  she  was  regarded  by  her  at  the  period  of  her 
first  engagement  with  Euston  Hastings ; — a  pity,  the  result 
of  her  conviction  that  Evelyn  was  wholly  incapable  of  ma- 
king any  deep,  enduring  impression  on  his  heart.  As  one 
wearied  with  gazing  on  bright  colors  and  glowing  lights, 
turns  with  pleasure  to  soberer  tints  and  the  cool  shades,  so 
might  his  jaded  senses  find  enjoyment  in  the  contemplation 
of  her  natural  and  simple  grace  and  beauty.  Her  timid 
and  yet  impassioned  nature  had  prepared  for  the  refined 
sensualist  a  triumph  greater  than  any  which  his  varied 
life  had  brought  him ;  but  the  triumph  once  achieved,  and 
Mrs.  Mabury  believed  that  the  artificial  man  of  the  world 
would  soon  need  the  excitement  which  could  only  be  fur- 
nished by  one  as  artificial  as  himself — one  who  could  fore- 
see each  turning  of  that  subtle  mind,  and  that  strange, 
inconstant  heart.  But  now,  she  could  set  no  limits  tc  the 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  205 

action  of  that  power  which  had,  in  so  short  a  time,  so 
wonderfully  developed  Evelyn's  powers  of  song.  What 
latent  qualities  might  not  be  called  forth  by  this  strong 
desire  to  please  the  object  of  her  devoted  affection;  and 
would  not  these  qualities  acquire  a  new  charm  for  Euston 
Hastings  when  regarded  as  a  demonstration  of  his  power? 
These  thoughts,  and  the  feelings  they  engendered,  cast  no 
shadow  over  the  bright  face  of  Mrs.  Mabury,  nor  did  she 
suffer  her  voice  again  to  betray  her ;  yet  in  her  words,  even 
while  praising  Evelyn,  there  was  an  assertion  of  superior 
taste  which  gave  some  indication  of  the  truth. 

"  Your  singing  is  perfection,  Eva,"  she  exclaimed,  "  but 
for  Heaven's  sake,  my  love,  never  again  accompany  such 
music  with  the  tinkling  guitar — they  are  wholly  out  of 
harmony." 

Euston  Hastings  smiled, — for  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Mrs.  Mabury 's  heart,  and  though  a  suspicion  of  jealousy  in 
his  wife  would  have  aroused  his  utmost  anger,  in  his  fair 
friend  it  awakened  softer  emotions. 

Mrs.  Howard  saw  her  daughter's  eye  kindling,  and  has- 
tened to  forestall  any  inconsiderate  remark  from  her,  by 
saying  to  Mrs.  Mabury,  with  a  frank  and  courteous  manner, 
"  You  have  not  my  inconstancy  of  taste.  When  I  heard 
your  harp,  I  thought  no  instrument  comparable  with  it; 
and  now  I  am  ready  to  pronounce  Mrs.  Hastings'  guitar  the 
most  delightful  of  all  accompaniments  for  a  sweet  voice." 
18 


206  CHARMS  AND  COUNTE1-CHARM3. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  April  clouds  that  quickly  pass 
In  shade  and  sunshine  o'er  the  grass, 
But  imitate  on  field  and  furrow 
Life's  fitful  scenes  of  joy  and  sorrow." 

SCOTT. 

AT  the  period  of  which  we  write,  the  choice  of  convey- 
ances in  travelling  lay  between  the  lumbering  stage-coach 
and  the  private  equipage.  The  rapid  rail-car  has  now 
nearly  displaced  both  of  these.  This  vehicle  is  in  striking 
unison  with  the  democratic  tendencies  of  our  age  and  coun- 
try. The  long-descended  master  of  many  a  fertile  acre — 
the  lady  reared  amid  costly  luxuries,  may  now  arrive  at 
Saratoga,  side  by  side  with  the  fortunate  mechanic  and  the 
pretty  milliner,  who  have  won  by  unusual  diligence  some 
days  or  weeks  of  leisure ;  and  if  the  last  have  been,  as 
many  of  their  class  in  our  favored  country  are,  well-educa- 
ted,— if  they  possess  the  native  refinement  monopolized  by 
no  condition,  they  may  enjoy  for  a  time  all  those  honors 
and  attentions  supposed  to  wait  on  rank  and  wealth.  The 
gentleman  will  never  dream  that  the  fair  hand  which  he 
touches  so  respectfully  in  the  dance,  has  ever  been  engaged 
in  the  manufacture  of  caps  and  bonnets, — nor  will  the  lady 
suspect  that  the  witty  remarks  which  drew  her  attention 
from  her  own  party  to  her  vis-a-vis  at  table,  were  made  by 
one  conversant  with  all  the  inysi  cries  of  the  plane,  the 
chisel,  and  the  hammer.  Not  thus  was  it  in  those  "  good 
old  times"  to  which,  despite  our  reasons,  our  hearts  look 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  207 

reverently  and  tenderly  back.  Then,  the  travellers  by  the 
stage-coach  looked  from  a  distance  admiringly,  envyingly, 
or  with  a  sort  of  defiant  pride,  according  to  their  various 
tempers,  on  those  arriving  in  their  own  carriages.  Among 
these  last  none  boasted  a  more  elegant  equipage  than 
Euston  Hastings,  but  in  one  thing  Mrs.  Mabury  surpassed 
him.  One  of  her  outriders  had  ridden  her  own  saddle- 
horse,  with  whose  beauty  nothing  at  Saratoga  could  com- 
pete,— and  day  after  day  she  was  seen  in  the  habit  and 
riding-cap  which  so  well  became  her,  mounted  on  her  noble 
Selim,  and  accompanied  by  parties  of  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
amongst  whom  she  moved  a  queen,  or  escorted  by  one 
gentleman  only,  and  that  one,  generally,  Euston  Hastings. 
A  week  or  more  of  very  dry  and  sultry  weather,  in  the 
latter  part  of  July,  was  succeeded  in  the  early  days  of 
August  by  heavy  showers.  All  in-door  amusements  had 
been  tried,  and^  all  had  ceased  to  please  before  the  sun 
again  looked  invitingly  forth.  Never  was  invitation  more 
joyfully  accepted  than  his,  when  it  was  vouchsafed.  The 
earth  was  green,  the  skies  bright,  the  roads  firm,  the  woods 
were  full  of  spicy  odors,  the  birds  were  fluttering  their 
many-colored,  newly-washed  wings,  and  singing  their  most 
joyous  songs. 

Not  more  joyous  were  they  than  seemed  the  riders,  male 
and  female,  who  came  forth  once  more,  after  many  days' 
imprisonment,  into  the  free  air.  They  entered  a  road 
winding  through  deep  woods,  which  soon  resounded  with 
their  cheerful  calls  and  their  gay  laughter.  They  were 
overflowing  with  spirits,  and  eager  for  adventure ;  but 
nothing  promised  to  gratify  this  desire,  for  the  road  was 
plain  and  smooth,  and  even  the  simultaneous  spurring  and 
checking  of  some  very  young  gentlemen  could  elicit  nothing 
more  than  a  few  graceful  caracoles  from  their  well-trained 
steeds.  At  length  they  reached  a  point  where  a  rough 


208  CHARMS  AN^   COUNTER-CHARMS. 

cart-road  diverged  from  the  one  they  were  pursuing,  and 
some  of  the  party  proposed  entering  it  It  looked  in- 
viting with  its  green  sod,  over  which  no  wheels  seemed  to 
have  passed  for  months,  and  with  the  trees  on  either  side 
forming  an  arch  over  it,  through  which  Ce  sun  could  only 
here  and  there  send  a  ray,  looking  all  the  brighter  for  the 
surrounding  shadow.  They  entered  it,  not  in  the  wide 
phalanx  in  which  they  had  hitherto  rode,  for  here,  from 
the  broken  character  of  the  ground,  only  two  riders  could 
pass  abreast.  Euston  Hastings  and  Mrs.  Mabury  led  the 
way,  followed  next  by  Evelyn  and  Monsieur  L'Egare. 
They  cantered  briskly  forward  for  about  half  a  mile,  when 
a  sudden  turn  of  the  road  brought  them  in  view  of  a  stone 
wall,  from  three  to  four  feet  high.  The  foremost  riders 
paused,  and  the  others  pressed  forward  to  learn  the  reason 
of  the  unexpected  halt. 

"Provoking!  Is  there  no  .way  of  getting  around  it? 
The  road  looks  more  tempting  still  beyond,"  cried  several 
voices. 

"  There  is  a  way  of  getting  over  it.  My  Selim  will  never 
tnrn  back  from  such  a  mere  bagatelle  as  yonder  wall," 
said  Mrs.  Mabury,  passing  her  hand  caressingly  through 
the  mane  of  the  beautiful  animal  which  arched  his  neck 
and  backed  his  ears,  as  if  proudly  conscious  of  her 
praises. 

"Come  on  then,  Estelle!  We  will  lead  the  way,"  cried 
Euston  Hastings,  gazing  admiringly  on  her  spirited  coun- 
tenance, while  Evelyn,  a  timid  rider  herself,  heard  the  pro- 
posal and  its  acceptance  with  undisg  used  terror. 

"  Oh  no — no !  you  will  not  go — you  are  jesting,  I  am 
sure :  are  you  not  ?"  she  exclaimed,  appealing  to  both  with 
a  forced  smile. 

"  Mr.  Hastings  may  be  jesting,  but  I  am  not,  I  .assure 
you.  I  mean,  to  pursue  that  road  and  discover  the  secret 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  209 

which  the  trees  in  that  mysterious  wood  seem  to  be  whis- 
pering to  each  other,"  answered  Mrs.  Mabury,  gayly. 

"  But  you  will  not  go — for  my  sake  you  will  not  do  any 
thing  so  wild — so  mad,"  urged  Evelyn  to  her  husband,  as 
she  drew  near  to  his  side. 

"  You  are  foolish,  and  are  making  yourself  ridiculous," 
said  he  in  an  angry  tone,  and  moving  off  from  her. 

Had  Evelyn  been  wise,  she  would  have  ceased  her  im- 
portunities, but  when  was  love,  impassioned  love,  wise  ? 

Wheeling  her  horse  almost  directly  across  his  path, 
she  laid  her  hand  upon  his,  and  said  with  a  vain  at- 
tempt at  playfulness,  "  You  must  not  go — I  shall  not  permit 
it!" 

His  brow  grew  red,  and  throwing  off  her  hand,  he  seized 
her  bridle,  and  pushing  her  horse  forcibly  back  from  his 
path,  put  spurs  to  his  own,  and  dashed  forward.  In 
another  instant  he  had  cleared  the  wall,  while  Evelyn  sat 
gazing  on  him  with  clasped  hands,  dilated  eyes,  and  lips 
apart. 

"  Come  on,"  he  called  to  Mrs.  Mabury,  "  your  Selim  will 
bear  you  over  it  like  a  bird." 

"  He  shall  try  at  least,"  she  replied,  and  striking  her 
horse  with  the  small  riding- whip  she  earned,  she  urged  him 
to  his  utmost  speed.  Fast — faster  onward  rushed  the 
beautiful  horse,  and  his  more  beautiful  rider.  They  have 
reached  the  barrier,  and  rising  lightly,  they  bound  grace- 
fully over  it,  and  turning  immediately,  stand  side  by  side 
with  Euston  Hastings,  and  facing  the  group  of  admiring 
but  less  adventurous  riders.  Evelyn  sees  her  husband  safe, 
and  yet  there  is  a  sharper  pang  at  her  heart  than  at  the 
moment  when  she  trembled  for  his  life,  for  she  sees  the 
playful  smiles  upon  his  lip, — she  catches  the  glance  of 
tender  admiration  directed  to  his  fair  friend,  and  she  con- 
trasts with  them  the  scornful  curve  of  the  lip,  the  dark, 
18* 


210         CHARMS  AND  COt  VTER-CHARMS. 

scowling  brow,  so  lately  turned  on  her,  and  she  feels  for 
the  first  time — alas  !  not  the  last — jealousy's  keen  dart. 

Mrs.  Mabury  waved  her  hand  in  adieu,  and  gayly  as- 
sured the  party  she  had  left,  that  she  would  bring  them  a 
.true  and  full  account  of  her  discoveries,  as  she  wheeled 
her  horse  to  follow  the  already  receding  figure  of  Euston 
Hastings.  The  winding  and  wooded  path  which  they  pur- 
sued soon  hid  them  from  the  gaze  of  their  late  companions, 
who  turned  with  somewhat  lowered  spirits  to  regain  the 
main  road.  The  light  cloud  soon  passed  from  other  minds, 
but  over  Evelyn's  it  settled  lower  and  grew  darker  every 
moment.  As  she  came,  none  had  been  more  joyous.  Her 
gayety  of  heart  had  burst  forth  in  sportive  words,  in  the 
light  laugh  which, 

" Without  any  control, 

But  the  sweet  one  of  gracefulness  rang  from  her  soul," 

and  sometimes  in  a  few  "  wood-notes  wild,"  warbled  forth 
in  an  imitation  which  her  nice  ear  made  singularly  exact,  of 
the  birds  carolling  around  her.  Now,  laugh  and  song  and 
sportive  words  were  hushed,  and  she  rode  silently  on  with 
passionate  and  bitter  thoughts  in  her  heart,  lying  too  deep, 
too  undefined,  perchance,  for  language,  yet  expressed 
clearly  enough  to  an  observing  eye,  in  her  flushed  cheeks 
and  the  strange  compression  of  her  usually  flexile  lips. 

The  glow  of  sunset  had  faded  into  the  dimness  of  twi- 
light, when  the  somewhat  wearied  party  returned  home. 
Evelyn  lingered  behind  her  companions  for  a  few  seconds, 
that  she  might  ask  of  the  groom  who  had  approached  to 
take  her  horse,  whether  Mr.  Hastings  Lad  returned.  He 
had  not. 

Two  hours  after,  Evelyn  still  remained  alone  in  her  dimly- 
lighted  room.  She  no  longer  wept  as  she  had  done  when 
she  first  sought  its  retirement ;  but  having  exchanged  her 
habit  for  a  muslin  wrapper,  she  sat  in  gloomy  stillness  near 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  211 

an  open  window,  looking  out  upon  the  darkness,  and  peopling 
its  void  with  the  sombre  visions  of  her  jealous  fancy.  At 
length  her  heart  bounded  to  the  quick  tread  of  horses'  feet. 
They  were  coming.  She  could  not  distinguish  their  forms 
or  features ;  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  voice  that  met 
her  ear  as  they  passed  just  beneath  her  window,  nor  the 
gay,  careless  laugh  which  rang  out  so  softly,  yet  so  joyous- 
ly on  the  still  air.  The  voice  was  that  of  Euston  Hastings, 
the  laugh  was  Mrs.  Mabury's. 

Reader  !  hast  thou  ever,  in  thy  hour  of  darkness,  caught 
the  light  words  or  tones  or  looks  of  one  held  as  the  better 
part  of  thy  own  being,  and  felt  a  sudden  pang  shoot  across 
thy  heart  at  the  thought — "  We  are  divided  ?"  If  so,  thou 
canst  divine  how  Evelyn,  the  sensitive  Evelyn,  felt  at  this 
moment,  and  thou  wilt  not  wonder  that  she  should  have 
forgotten  the  many  wise  resolves,  made  in  the  last  hour,  to 
conceal  within  her  heart's  deepest  recess  emotions  which 
could  only  offend  where  she  most  desired  to  please.  Could 
she  have  heard  those  words  ! 

"  Poor  Eva !  See,  she  sits  alone  there,  watching  for  us. 
I  fear  I  was  a  little  harsh  to  her  this  afternoon." 

"  And  now  you  are  beginning  to  dread  her  wife-like  re- 
ception— '  How  dost  thou  Benedict  the  married  man  ?'  " 
and  then  rang  out  that  graceful  laugh. 

"  My  Eva  is  no  Beatrice — thank  Heaven  !  and  if  she  some- 
times wear  a  clouded  brow,  I  have  a  charm  by  which  I  can 
bring  back  all  her  smiles  at  will." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  and  see  you  use  it — 1  may  need 
such  a  charm  myself  one  day." 

In  a  few  minutes  Evelyn's  straining  ear  caught  light  foot- 
falls near  her  door,  and  then  the  quick,  decided  tap  upon  its 
panel  which  always  heralded  his  coming. 

"  Come  in,"  she  cried ; — but  the  opening  dooi  showed 
her  that  Euston  Hastings  was  not  alone. 


212  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

In  Evelyn's  present  mood  Mrs.  Mabury's  visit  seemed  an 
insult,  and  a  brighter  light  would  have  shown  the  kindling 
of  her  eyes,  the  flushing  of  her  pale  face,  and  the  sudden 
erection  of  her  drooping  form,  as  resentful  pride  overmas- 
tered her  sadness.  She  rose  from  her  chair,  but  neither  ad- 
vanced towards  her  visiter  nor  spoke. 

"  I  think  you  will  need  your  charm,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Mabury  to  Euston  Hastings ;  then  passing  into  the  room, 
she  said,  "  I  must  keep  our  adventures  for  another  occasion, 
Eva :  neither  of  us  have  any  time  to  spare,  if  we  would 
grace 's  ball-room  on  this  his  gala-night — " 

"Pray  do  not  let  me  detain  you  a  moment — I  assure 
you — " 

"  One  moment  more — I  only  want  to  present  Mr.  Hastings 
to  you  untouched  in  life  and  limb,  and  entreat  you  to  for- 
give me  for  leading  him  away  a  few  hours  from  his  liege 
lady." 

"  Mr.  Hastings  is  his  own  master — I  have — " 

"  No  time  to  talk  now,  Evelyn,"  said  Euston  Hastings, 
interrupting  her  impatiently.  "Make  your  toilette  quickly, 
Estelle,  and  we  will  call  for  you  on  our  way  down.  Shine 
forth  in  all  your  brilliancy  to-night  for 's  sake.  To- 
night begins  the  war  between  the  rival  houses  of  Ballston 
and  Saratoga." 

"  I  am  gone.  Pray  that  my  charms  may  be  more  suc- 
cessful than  yours  has  proved." 

Mrs.  Mabury  was  already  beyond  the  door  when  these 
last  words  were  pronounced,  and  Euston  Hastings  closed  it 
without  replying  to  them.  Lighting  a  candle,  he  went  to 
his  dressing-room  in  perfect  silence,  and  only  after  he  had 
entered  it  looked  out  again  to  say,  "  I  shall  be  ready  in  half 
an  hour,  Evelyn." 

"  I  do  not  intend  going  down  to-night,"  Evelyn  replied. 

In  half  an  hour  Euston  Hastings  appeared  again,  dressed 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  213 

with  his  usual  unostentatious  elegance.  Evelyn  expected, 
perhaps  she  hoped,  that  he  would  use  some  persuasion  to 
induce  her  to  accompany  him,  but  he  did  not.  Then  and 
ever,  he  acted  in  the  spirit  he  had  avowed, — allowing  to 
her  the  same  uncontrolled  liberty  he  demanded  for  him- 
self. 

.  "  You  will  probably  be  asleep,  Evelyn,"  he  said,  "  before 
L  leave  the  ball-room  to-night.  You  will  oblige  me  if  you 
will  order  a  bed  made  up  for  me  on  the  cot  in  my  dressing- 
room.  I  can  enter  it  by  the  outer  door,  and  so  I  shall  not 
be  restrained  by  the  fear  of  awaking  you.  Good-night." 

The  words  were  said  and  he  had  passed  from  the  room 
before  Evelyn,  surprised,  agitated,  could  summon  power  to 
speak.  This  separation,  this  cold  good-night,  what  did  they 
portend  ?  Her  pride  and  her  love  were  both  in  arms,  and 
for  hours,  while  the  music  of  the  distant  ball-room  told  of 
joy  and  festivity,  she  sat  weeping  and  upbraiding  alternately 
her  own  folly  and  his  indifference.  At  length  the  clock 
struck  twelve,  and  she  remembered  that  the  bed  he  had 
asked  was  not  yet  made.  She  approached  the  bell,  but 
turned  irresolutely  away.  "  Was  the  past  irremediable  ?" 
she  asked  herself.  "  He  was  not  unforgiving — he  had  taken 
her  to  his  heart  at  her  first  expression  of  regret  when 
last  she  angered  him.  Might  it  not  be  thus  now,  if  she 
waited  till  he  came,  and  sought  a  reconciliation  with  him  ? 
She  should  sleep  so  sweetly  after  receiving  his  kiss  of 
peace." 

Drawing  a  large  well-stuffed  chair  near  the  door  of  his 
dressing-room,  Evelyn  seated  herself  there  to  await  his 
coming.  She  listened  for  it  till  the  time  seemed  to  her  to 
stretch  out  to  hours,  and  then  she  slept — slept  long  and 
heavily — exhausted  by  her  conflict  of  feeling.  She  was 
awakened  by  a  sharp,  crackling  sound,  and  when  fully 
aroused,  she  perceived  that  it  came  from  the  direction  of 


214  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

the  dressing-room,  and  turning  quickly  thither,  her  eyes 
were  dazzled  by  the  glare  of  light  visible  beneath  the  door. 
Scarcely  pausing  to  think,  she  threw  open  the  door,  and 
stood  for  a  single  second  gazing  on  the  almost  maddening 
sight  within.  The  candle  which  Euston  Hastings  had  taken 
into  his  room  had  been  carelessly  left  burning  on  a  table  too 
near  the  wall  on  which  hung  some  light  summer-clothing. 
This  had  taken  fire,  and  the  blazing  fragments  had,  in  falling, 
communicated  the  flame  to  the  dry  and  matted  floor.  The 
flames  had  not  yet  risen  to  a  great  height,  but  they  had 
spread  nearly  over  the  whole  floor,  forming  a  sea  of  fire 
between  Evelyn  and  the  cot  on  which  Euston  Hastings  lay 
half  undressed,  as  still  and  looking — by  that  lurid  light  and 
under  the  dun  canopy  of  smoke  which,  driven  inwards  by 
the  air  from  Evelyn's  room,  hung  above  him  thickening 
every  moment — well-nigh  as  pale  as  the  dead.  One  cry  of 
dismay  only  escaped  Evelyn's  lips.  She  had  no  fear,  no 
thought  for  herself.  "  He  is  in  danger," — this  was  the 
thought  which  filled  her  heart  and  nerved  her  to  exertion. 
His  life  depended  upon  her ;  for  though  hundreds  were 
around  her,  they  were  probably  sleeping,  and  before  she 
could  arouse  them,  all  help  might  be  unavailing  for  him. 
Strong  in  ,her  love,  the  timid,  shrinking  Evelyn  became  a 
heroine,  prompt  in  thought  and  bold  in  action.  We  have 
said  that  she  stood  but  one  instant  looking  at  the  sight  which 
that  opening  door  had  disclosed  ;  the  next,  gathering  up  the 
bedclothes,  which  fortunately  the  chill  air  of  Saratoga  ren- 
dered unusually  heavy  for  the  season,  she  cast  them  on  the 
burning  floor,  and  while  the  flames  were  for  a  moment 
smothered,  rushed  over  them  to  the  cot. 

"  Wake  ! — wake,  Mr.  Hastings  ! — oh  !  wake,  or  you  will 
die  ! — oh  God  !  have  mercy  on  us  !  he  will  never  wake." 

Such  were  Evelyn's  frantic  cries,  while  every  moment  the 
flames  came  nearer,  scorching,  stifling  her,  yet  Euston  Has- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  215 

tings  stirred  not.  A  sigh,  a  groan  from  him,  her  own  la- 
bored breathing  told  her  at  last  that  he  was  held  by  other 
bonds  than  those  of  sleep.  That  smoke — becoming  denser  at 
every  breath,  suffocating  even  to  her  who  had  Ijeen  scarce 
a  second  within  its  influence — oh,  for  one  single  rush  of  air 
to  sweep  it  from  the  room !  Quick  as  the  lightning's  flash 
these  thoughts  had  darted  through  her  mind, — scarce  slower 
was  her  movement,  as  bounding  to  the  outer  door  over  the 
already  blackened  and,  in  some  spots,  blazing  covering,  she 
threw  it  wide  open,  and  sprang  back  upon  the  cot.  Her 
feet  were  blistered,  her  dress  was  on  fire,  and  as  she  threw 
herself  beside  Euston  Hastings  to  smother  the  flame,  her 
shrieks — "  Fire  !  fire  ! — help  !  help — or  he  will  die  !"  alarmed 
the  occupants  of  the  neighboring  apartments,  and  aroused 
to  entire  consciousness  Euston  Hastings  himself,  whose  lungs 
had  been  already  relieved  by  the  sudden  rush  of  fresh  air 
through  his  room.  One  glance  around  his  room,  one  cry  to 
the  Heaven  which  the  most  infidel  heart  acknowledges  at 
such  a  moment,  and  with  that  almost  superhuman  effort 
only  possible  to  him  who  struggles  for  life,  he  started  up, 
caught  the  slender  form  of  Evelyn  in  his  arms,  and  standing 
upon  the  cot,  bounded  from  it  through  the  now  blazing 
doorway  into  the  room  beyond.  There  his  power  gave  way, 
and  staggering  beneath  his  light  burden  to  the  bed,  he  sank 
with  her  upon  it. 

"  Thank  God  !  you  are  safe,"  murmured  Evelyn. 

"  And  saved  by  you,  my  Eva  !" 

His  words  fell  on  unconscious  ears — Evelyn  had  fainted, 
and  before  she  was  restored  to  life  and  feeling  the  flames 
had  been  extinguished ;  and  the  first  moment  of  returning 
consciousness  showed  her  Euston  Hastings  bending  over  her, 
with  his  usually  stern  countenance  softened  to  the  expression 
of  the  most  anxious  tenderness,  while  he  said  in  earnest,  en- 
treating tones,  "  Touch  her  gently — pray  touch  her  gently," 


216  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

She  smiled  upon  him,  though  the  next  instant  her  brow 
was  contracted  by  pain,  as  Miss  Howard  carefully  applied 
the  dressings,  prepared  by  a  physician  who  stood  beside  her, 
to  the  burns  upon  her  feet. 

For  many  days  Evelyn  could  not  stand,  but  these  were 
among  the  happiest  days  of  her  life,  for  Euston  Hastings 
was  her  tender  and  assiduous  nurse,  and  her  constant  com- 
panion. It  was  he  who  lifted  her  from  her  bed  to  the 
couch  near  a  window,  on  which  she  spent  most  of  her  wa- 
king hours.  There  he  would  sit  beside  her,  reading  to  her, 
talking  with  her,  and  soothing  her  by  tender  words  when 
the  red  spot  upon  her  cheek  marked  an  increase  of  pain  and 
fever.  Many  friends  visited  her,  but  he  rarely  relinquished 
to  any  his  seat  at  her  side,  and  not  even  Mrs.  Mabury's 
brightest  smiles  or  most  interesting  vein  of  conversation 
could  make  him  for  a  moment  forgetful  of  her  who  had 
proved  her  devoted  love  for  him  at  the  peril  of  her  life. 
Evelyn's  exulting  heart  repeated  to  her  again  and  again, 
"  I  have  won  him — he  is  mine,  wholly  mine  at  last ;"  and 
already  forgetful  of  Him  to  whom  she  had  cried  in  her  ago- 
ny, and  who  had  shown  himself  to  her  a  God  of  mercy,  she 
asked  no  other  heaven  than  the  continuance  of  her  present 
bliss.  Fearful  is  it  thus  to  make  to  ourselves  idols  of  clay, 
and  rest  our  every  hope  upon  that  broken  reed — a  human 
heart! 

While  Mrs.  Mabury  looked  on  these  scenes  with  agony 
that  found  no  expression  in  her  proud  eye,  her  gay  tones, 
and  sparkling  manner,  envying  Evelyn  the  fiery  ordeal 
through  which  she  had  attained  such  joy,  and  Miss  Howard, 
with  new  hope  for  her  friend,  whispered  to  her  mother, 
"  He  has  a  heart" — that  mother,  more  experienced  in  life, 
trembled  for  the  young  stranger  whose  gentle  and  loving 
nature  had  excited  an  almost  maternal  interest  in  her  kindly 
bosom. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  217 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  Alas !   how  light  a  cause  may  move 
Dissension  between  hearts  that  love  !" 

MOORE. 

EXPERIENCE  is  the  best  teacher,  says  the  world,  and  sc 
it  has  said  for  thousands  of  years,  and  yet  we  venture  to 
dispute  the  maxim.  Is  that  the  best  teacher  which  ex- 
poses our  mistakes  only  when  hope  and  energy  are  dead 
within  us,  and  teaches  us  how  to  attain  our  desires  only 
when  earth  holds  no  object  that  can  kindle  them  ? 

Evelyn  returned  from  Saratoga  a  proud  and  happy  wife. 
Mr.  Beresford's  heart  bounded  with  delight  as  he  received 
her  to  his  arms  all  smiles  and  brightness,  with  a  gladness 
in  her  eyes  such  as  he  had  rarely  seen  there,  even  in  her 
joyous  girlhood.  Again  the  sleeping  echoes  of  her  early 
home  were  awakened  by  her  song,  or  her  scarce  less  musi- 
cal laugh,  and  beside  her  was  Euston  Hastings,  looking 
gentler  and  brighter,  and  Mr.  Beresford  thought  younger, 
than  of  yore.  A  few  weeks  passed  away  thus,  and  again 
there  fell  a  shadow  on  the  brightness  of  Evelyn's  life. 

It  was  October,  and  New  York  was  fast  filling  up  with 
the  thousands  who  had  left  it  in  the  summer  for  cooler  or 
gayer  resorts.  Mrs.  Mabury  had  returned.  She  had  left 
Saratoga  before  Euston  Hastings  and  Evelyn,  and  had 
passed  the  intervening  weeks  in  travel.  She  had  visited 
Niagara,  had  persuaded  her  companions,  Monsieur  and 
Madame  L'Egare,  to  proceed  to  Buffalo,  then  almost  in  its 
infancy,  and  thence  embarking  on  Lake  Erie,  to  penetrata 
19 


218  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

with  her  the  wilderness  that  lay  upon  its  western  shorea 
From  this  tour  she  had  borne  back  a  store  of  vivid  descrip- 
tion and  amusing  anecdote,  which  rendered  her  society  more 
exciting  than  ever.  She  called  at  Beresford  Hall  soon  after 
her  arrival.  Never  had  she  seemed  to  Euston  Hastings  so 
brilliant.  To  him  her  conversation  was  like  wine  to  the 
inebriate  who  has  long  forborne  its  exhilarating  influence. 
He  accepted  the  invitation  which  Evelyn  declined,  to  ac- 
company her  to  the  city. 

How  sadly  did  Evelyn  watch  the  setting  sun  that  evening 
— how  gloomy  seemed  the  night  as  it  darkened  around  her ! 
It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Euston  Hastings  returned. 
An  hour  earlier  Evelvn  would  have  received  him  with  a 
clouded  brow,  but  in  that  hour  a  thousand  apprehensions 
of  danger  or  disaster  had  been  conjured  up  by  her  timid 
fancy,  and  when  he  came,  she  forgot  all  other  feelings  in 
joy  at  his  safety. 

"  I  have  brought  an  invitation  for  you  from  Mrs.  Mabury 
to  dine  with  her  to-day,  Eva,"  said  Euston  Hastings,  as  he 
laid  aside  the  daily  paper  to  welcome  her  to  the  library, 
the  following  morning  after  breakfast. 

The  smile  with  which  she  had  entered,  vanished  from 
her  lip  as  she  replied — "I  am  much  obliged  to  her,  but  I 
have  engagements  at  home  to-day." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  as  I  think  we  shall  have  a  very  agree- 
able party ;"  and  Euston  Hastings  resumed  his  paper. 

Evelyn  sat  beside  him  with  a  swelling  heart. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  looked  up  to  ask—"  Evelyn,  where 
would  you  prefer  that  I  should  take  a  house — in  Broadway 
or Place  ?" 

"  A  house  !     What  do  you  want  with  a  house  ?" 

"  To  live  in, — unless  you  would  prefer  rooms  at  a  hotel 
for  the  winter.  I  am  told  there  will  be  a  greater  number  of 
vacant  houses  from  which  to  choose  oui  home  in  the  spring.' 


CHARMS  AND   COUNTER-CHARMS.  219 

"  I  wish  no  other  home  than  this." 

Huston  Hastings  looked  for  a  moment  on  her  flushed 
face  and  quivering  lip,  and  then  replied  in  his  usual  firm, 
cold  tone — "  You  are  aware,  Evelyn,  of  course,  that  I 
cannot  much  longer  remain  your  father's  guest ;  but  in 
regard  to  your  accompanying  me,  you  can  do  as  you  please 
— I  exact  no  sacrifices  from  you." 

One  large  tear  fell  upon  Evelyn's  hand  unheeded  by  her, 
but  not  unmarked  by  Euston  Hastings,  as  she  said,  falter- 
ingly,  with  a  voice  choked  by  emotion,  "  I  do  not  think  I 
have  shown  myself  averse  to  make  them." 

An  almost  involuntary  movement  of  the  foot  which  had 
suffered  most  in  the  fire  at  Saratoga,  and  which  was  still 
tender  from  its  effects,  gave  point  to  this  speech.  The 
blood  rose  in  a  torrent  to  the  brow  of  Euston  Hastings, 
swelling  and  tightening  the  veins  which  crossed  his  temples, 
but  he  did  not  answer  her  till  the  crimson  tide  had  retreat- 
ed, leaving  his  face  as  pale  and  calm  as  usual.  Then  he 
said,  in  tones  which  told  little  of  the  tempest  he  had  subdued 
— "  You  are  not  well  versed  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  Evelyn, 
or  you  would  have  discovered  that  any  attempt  to  assert  a 
claim  over  it,  even  the  claim  of  services  rendered,  but 
tempts  it  to  resistance.  As  regards  the  house,  I  shall  see 
the  two  houses  that  have  been  offered  me  to-day  and  se- 
lect onew^f  them,  since  you  refuse  to  choose  for  me.  By 
the  first  of  November  it  will  be  ready  for  us,  and  I  shall 
remove  there.  But  again  I  tell  you,  I  Will  exercise  no 
force  on  your  inclinations, — your  rooms  will  be  prepared 
for  you  there, — you  can  occupy  them  or  not,  as  you 
please." 

"  Heartless  and  ungrateful !"  burst  from  the  excited  Ev- 
elyn as  Euston  Hastings  left  the  room,  regardless  of  tne 
sobs  which  his  words  had  occasioned. 

Euston  Hastings  heard  her  not.      His  horse,  which  he 


220  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

had  ordered  before  breakfast,  was  already  in  waiting  wh^n 
he  left  her,  and  mounting  immediately,  he  set  off  at  a  rate 
which  brought  him  in  a  very  few  minutes  to  the  entrance 
of  the  city.  Here  he  drew  in  his  bridle,  and  gradually 
soothing  the  spirit  he  had  himself  excited,  brought  his 
horse  to  proceed  at  a  pace  less  likely  to  attract  attention  to 

Mrs.  Mabury's  house  in street.  Early  as  it  was,  he 

found  that  lady  surrounded  by  visiters,  who  were  urging 
her  to  accompany  them  in  the  evening  to  the  Park  Theatre, 
where  a  company  of  ballet-dancers — the  first  importation 
of  the  kind  from  Europe — were  to  exhibit  their  art  for  the 
improvement  of  American  taste. 

"  You  have  come  in  a  happy  moment,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Mabury,  extending  her  hand  to  him  in  welcome,  "just  in 
time  to  save  me  from  what  I  dread  of  all  things — a  de- 
cision. Shall  I  go  to  see  these  people  at  the  Park  ?" 

"  Why  should  you  not  ?"  asked  Euston  Hastings,  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Because  if  I  have  a  passion,  it  is  for  that  poetry  of 
motion  which  makes  an  attitude  express  so  much  to  which 
we  cannot  or  dare  not  give  words.  Do  you  not  remember 
how  Taglioni  swayed  my  soul  ?  I  fear  to  see  these  peo- 
ple— I  fear  some  gross  caricature  of  her  inimitable  grace  to 
shock  my  taste,  and  shadow  my  pleasing  memories." 

"Oh!  go  by  all  means,"  said  Euston  Hastings>"and  I 
will  go  with  you.  These  people  are  probably  neither  the 
best  nor  the  worst  of  their  kind,  but  I  shall  encourage  them 
as  a  duty." 

"  A  duty  ! — I  do  not  understand,"  said  a  yoxmg  gentle- 
man of  the  party,  with  a  puzzled  look.  Euston  Hastings 
appeared  not  to  hear  him. 

"  Explain  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mabury. 

"  At  your  command,  certainly.  I  consider  it  my  duty  to 
do  all  I  can  to  free  my  countrymen  and  countrywomen 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTEE-CHAEMS.  221 

from  the  tyranny  exercised  over  them  by  the  opinions  and 
customs  of  their  puritanical  ancestors — a  worse  tyranny 
than  any  other  in  the  world,  for  it  enslaves  the  soul." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  sir,"  said  the  before-mentioned  young 
gentleman ;  "  those  Puritans  were  the  most  contemptible, 
ridiculous,  canting  race." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Euston  Hastings,  with  the  most 
punctilious  politeness,  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  do  not  agree 
with  you.  The  Puritans  of  America  were  the  noblest 
race  of  men  that  ever  existed.  The  customs  and  opinions 
to  which  I  adverted,  were  no  yoke  to  them,  they  were  the 
free  expression  of  their  unfettered  souls  ;  but  in  their  chil- 
dren, who  have  lost  the  deep  religious  faith  from  which 
those  customs  and  opinions  sprung,  they  would  be  either 
a  miserable  affectation,  or  a  pitiable  subjection  to  an  intoler- 
able tyranny." 

"  Hear,  hear  !  Euston  Hastings  defending  the  Puritans ! 
Is  Saul  among  the  prophets  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Mabury,  desirous 
of  soothing  the  irritation  of  the  discomfited  young  gentle- 
man, who  had  just  sufficient  acuteness  of  perception  to  be 
aware  that  Euston  Hastings  had  no  great  respect  for  his 
judgment;  "but,  revenons  a  nos  moutons — that  is,  to  the 
ballet-dancers,"  she  continued ;  "  Mr.  Hastings  has  de- 
cided for  me,  that  I  go  with  you  this  evening,  to  aid  in 
liberating  my  country  from  the  despotism  of  opinion. 
Thank  you  for  that,"  she  added,  turning  to  Euston  Has- 
tings with  a  graceful  laugh,  "  I  do  like  to  find  an  exalted 
motive  for  an  action  to  which  I  am  inclined.  It  keeps  me 
in  such  good  humor  with  myself." 

"  Will  not  Mrs.  Hastings  join  our  party.?"  asked  one 
lady. 

"  Pray,  persuade  her  to  accompany  us,  Mr.  Hastings," 
urged  another. 

Euston  Hastings  bowed  in  sik-nce  to  these  overtures,  and 
29* 


222  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

only  Mrs.  Mabury  saw  the  slight  contraction  of  his  brow, 
when  first  his  wife  was  named.  "  Are  you  going  for  Eve- 
lyn ?"  she  asked  as  soon  as  they  were  alone. 

"  No — I  will  send  a  note  to  her,  and  invite  her  to  join 
me  here,  with  your  permission." 

"Do  so;  and  tell  her  to  come  prepared  to  spend  the 
night  here.  It  will  be  better  than  a  sleepy  drive  to  Beres- 
ford  Hall." 

Euston  Hastings  assented,  and  Mrs.  Mabury  left  him  to 
dress  for  morning  visits.  She  paused  at  the  door,  however, 
to  say,  "  You  will  dine  with  me  of  course ;  and  Evelyn,  if 
she  can  come  in  time." 

"  I  make  no  engagements  for  her,  but  you  may  depend 
on  me." 

In  a  few  minutes  Euston  Hastings  had  written  and 
dispatched  the  following  note  : 

"The  ballet-dancers  lately  arrived  from  Europe,  make 
their  first  appearance  at  the  Park  to-night.  If  you  have 
any  desire  to  witness  their  debiit,  come  in  as  soon  as  you 
please  after  receiving  this.  Mrs.  Mabury  hopes  to  see  you 
at  dinner.  At  any  rate,  you  must  not  be  later  than  six 
o'clock,  for  as  the  novelty  will  probably  attract  a  crowd, 
we  shall  go  early.  Mrs.  Mabury  advises  your  coming  pre- 
pared to  spend  the  night  at  her  house.  Should  you  not 
come,  you  will  oblige  me  by  sending  Dixon  in  with  my 
dressing-case  and  valise,  as  I  shall  in  that  case  take  a  room 
at  a  hotel  for  the  night.  I  hope,  however,  you  will  come 
yourself — provided  you  come  prepared  to  enjoy  yourself,  and 
to  add  to  the  enjoyment  of  others;  but  I  entreat  you,  Eve- 
lyn, for  your  own  sake,  as  well  as  nine,  bring  with  you  no 
clouds. 

"  Yours, 

"E.  HASTINGS." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  223 

Evelyn  had  been  left  by  Euston  Hastings  in  the  morning, 
in  a  tempest  of  emotion,  such  as  she  had  never  experienced 
before.  His  displeasure  or  his  coldness  had  theretofore 
excised  only  grief,  but  now  there  was  a  sense  of  injus- 
tice in  her  heart,  awakening  an  indignation  which  well- 
nigh  overmastered  sorrow.  She  had  been  accustomed  to 
say  in  past  times,  "  He  thinks  me  but  a  silly  child.  Ah ! 
if  he  knew  the  devotion  that  is  in  my  heart — if  he  knew 
what  I  could  dare  for  him !"  And  now  he  knew  it  a.1! — 
had  she  not  offered  her  life  for  his,  and  won  him  even  from 
the  very  arms  of  death,  acquiring  thus  an  indefeasible  right 
to  his  devotion ;  and  how  could  she  endure  those  cold  and 
heartless  words,  which  seemed  to  mock  at  her  claim  and 
deride  her  offering  ?  The  impassioned  nature  which  Euston 
Hastings  had  read  so  early  in  the  depths  of  her  downcast 
eye".,  was  fully  awakened,  and  she  longed,  with  an  im- 
patience which  would  scarcely  bear  delay,  for  his  coming, 
that  she  might  pour  forth  all  the  wild  utterance  of  her 
burning  heart.  Such  was  her  state  of  feeling  when  his 
note  was  handed  to  her.  With  a  trembling  hand,  and  a 
cheek  flushed  with  its  own  eager  longings,  she  broke  the 
seal,  not  doubting  that  she  should  find  there  a  recantation 
of  his  cruel  words.  How  like  an  ice-bolt  did  every  sen- 
tence and  line  and  word  fall  upon  her  heart !  She  threw 
the  note  from  her,  as  she  concluded  reading  it,  and  re- 
mained in  perfect  stillness,  gazing  from  the  window  by  which 
she  sat,  without  seeing  aught,  and  quite  unconscious  of  the 
lapse  of  time,  till  her  maid  entered  to  ask  if  she  would 
send  an  answer  to  the  note,  as  the  servant  who  had  brought 
it  was  waiting.  Her  resolution  was  taken  in  a  moment. 

"  Tell  him  he  may  go,"  she  said.  "  I  will  be  in  the  city 
myself  this  evening ;  and  tell  Dixon  to  prepare  his  master's 
dressing-case,  and  put  up  some  linen  for  him  in  his  valise, 
as  Lc  will  probably  remain  in  New  York  to-night." 


224  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  too,  ma'am? — will  you  want 
some  things  put  up  ?" 

"  No ;  I  shall  sleep  at  home." 

"  I  will  leave  him  his  boasted  liberty — let  him  see  whether 
it  will  requite  him  for  the  loss  of  love,"  she  murmured,  in 
her  heart's  depths.  "  Where  is  Mr.  Beresford  ?"  she  con- 
tinued aloud  to  the  girl. 

"  In  the  library,  I  think,  ma'am." 

Unusually  rapid  in  all  her  movements,  Evelyn  was  in  an- 
other moment  at  her  father's  side. 

"  Father,  you  must  go  with  me  to  the  city  to-night,  or 
come  for  me,  if  you  like  that  better,  to  Mrs.  Mabury's  about 
ten  o'clock." 

"  Must — and  pray  why  must  I,  saucebox,  give  up  my 
comfortable  arm-chair  at  home  for  a  night-drive  ?  Where  is 
your  sworn  vassal,  Mr.  Hastings  ?" 

"  Oh !  he  has  something  to  do  which  will  keep  him  in 
the  city  to-night,  and  I  want  to  return  home." 

"  And  pray,  why  are  you  going  ?  Does  Mrs.  Mabury 
give  a  party  to-night  ?" 

"  No ;  Mr.  Hastings  wishes  me  to  go  to  the  theatre  with 
him." 

Evelyn  colored,  for  she  was  conscious  that  she  was 
not  dealing  quite  honestly  with  her  father,  and  passing 
quickly  to  another  subject,  she  asked,  "  Will  you  go  with 
me,  father,  or  come  for  me '?" 

"  Oh !  I  will  go  with  you,  since  I  must  do  one  or  the 
other ;  I  hate  solitary  drives,  especially  by  night.  While 
you  are  at  the  theatre,  I  will  look  in  upon  some  old  friends." 

Evelyn's  toilette  was  made  with  unusual  brilliancy,  yet 
rapidly.  Never  had  ambitious  conqueror  longed  to  find 
himself  in  presence  of  his  foe,  as  she  did  to  meet  Euston 
Hastings,  and  enter  on  the  conflict  on  which  she  had  deci- 
ded. He  had  told  her  that  eai  th  held  for  hin  nothing  so 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  225 

dear  as  her  love — he  should  learn  that  it  was  possible  to 
lose  it.  She  would  drive  him  from  that  cold  self-possession 
which  rose  up  against  her  passionate  appeals  like  some  iron 
rock  against  which  the  waves  exhaust  themselves  in  vain. 
Rash  determination !  Who  could  look  at  her  even  now, 
when  passion  had  deepened  every  line  of  her  fair  face,  in- 
spiring it  with  strange  power,  and  recall  the  dark,  stern  face 
of  Euston  Hastings,  with  its  cold,  thoughtful  eyes,  the 
haughty  carriage  of  his  head,  the  firm  compression  of  his 
lips,  without  feeling  that  conflict  between  them  must  be  de- 
struction to  her? 

The  clock  was  on  the  stroke  of  six,  and  Mrs.  Mabury  and 
Euston  Hastings  were  sipping  their  coffee  in  her  boudoir, 
when  the  servant  announced  Mrs.  Hastings.  Evelyn  fol- 
lowed so  closely  on  his  steps  that  Mrs.  Mabury,  whatever 
had  been  her  intention,  was  compelled  to  receive  her  there. 
There  was  a  cold  but  bright  smile  on  Evelyn's  lip,  and  an 
unusual  expression  on  her  brow  as  she  glanced  around  on 
entering;  and  the  tone  in  which  she  said,  "I  am  sorry  to 
disturb  so  comfortable  an  arrangement,"  heightened  the 
bloom  on  Mrs.  Mabury 's  cheeks,  and  made  Euston  Hastings 
bite  his  lips  with  anger. 

"  You  will  stay  with  me  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury,  al- 
most instantly  recovering  her  self-possession. 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  have  promised  my  father  to  return 
with  him  after  the  ballet." 

"  With  him  !     Is  Mr.  Beresford  here  ?" 

"  No ;  he  came  in  with  me,  but  is  spending  the  evening 
with  his  old  friends,  the  Delancys." 

"  Has  Dixon  sent  what  I  desired  ?"  inquired  Euston  Has- 
tings. 

"  I  presume  so — I  gave  him  your  orders." 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  recognise  Evelyn — the  timid, 
tender  Evelyn — in  the  self-possessed,  nonchalant  speaker. 


226         CHARMS  AND  COUN  PER- CHARMS. 

A  cup  of  coffee  was  brought  to  her,  and  she  threw  off  her 
hood  and  opened  the  cloak,  which  the  chill  evening  air  had 
compelled  her  to  assume. 

"  Heavens  !  Evelyn,  how  dazzling  you  are !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mabury,  as  the  light  fell  upon  the  large  rubies,  sur- 
rounded by  diamonds,  which  ornamented  the  comb  con- 
fining her  golden  curls  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  upon 
her  necklace  and  bracelets,  formed  of  the  same  valuable, 
gems.  "  Why  have  I  never  seen  you  wear  those  splendid 
ornaments  before?" 

"Have  you  never  seen  them?  They  were  a  present 
from  my  father  on  my  marriage.  I  have  worn  them  little, 
because  I  have  had  a  foolish  fancy  for  pearls,  which,  like 
other  foolish  fancies,  is  passing  away." 

Pearls  were  the  ornaments  in  which  Euston  Hastings 
preferred  to  see  Evelyn.  He  smiled  languidly  as  he  said, 
"You  will  outshine  the  ballet-dancers  to-night,  Evelyn,  and 
will  attract  almost  as  many  gazers." 

As  he  concluded,  he  turned  a  glance  of  undisguised  ad- 
miration on  Mrs.  Mabury,  whose  only  ornament  was  a 
string  of  large  pearls  interwoven  with  the  glossy  braid  of 
dark  hair,  wound  gracefully  around  her  finely-formed  head. 
Evelyn's  courage  had  almost  given  way  at  that  glance, — she 
could  scarcely  press  back  to  her  heart  the  gushing  tears. 

The  carriage  was  announced,  and  Euston  Hastings  arose 
to  assist  the  ladies  in  cloaking.  Only  Evelyn  herself  could 
have  told  how  much  was  wanting  of  the  tenderness  which 
he  usually  mingled  with  such  little  attentions  when  offered 
to  her.  In  their  progress  to  the  theatre,  and  when  there, 
he  continued  to  exhibit  to  her  the  utmost  courtesy,  but  a 
courtesy  so  cold,  that  it  was  more  wounding  than  neglect. 
As  Euston  Hastings  had  prophesied,  glasses  were  le-velled 
at  her  from  the  pit  and  the  surrounding  boxes ;  and  if  the 
gazers  were  at  first  attracted  by  the  brilliancy  ef  her  jewels. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  227 

it  was  evident  that  these  were  soon  forgotten  in  admiration 
of  the  beauty  they  adorned.  Euston  Hastings  was  well 
pleased  that  his  wife  should  appear  thus,  but  no  softer 
emotion  towards  Evelyn  arose  in  his  heart.  Evelyn  pre- 
sented herself  to  him  in  the  attitude  of  one  who  asserted 
a  claim  to  his  consideration — a  right  to  his  affection,  and 
this  was  an  attitude  peculiarly  offensive  to  a  nature  as 
proud  and  indolent  and  self-absorbed  as  his.  Beneath  all 
this  pride  and  indolence  and  self-love,  there  still  doubtless 
throbbed  a  heart,  and  Evelyn  had  reached  it,  by  venturing 
into  the  very  shadow  of  death,  to  snatch  him  thence ;  but 
her  influence  over  Ms  affections  could  only  have  been  main- 
tained by  the  same  unquestioning  devotion  which  had  won 
it.  As  it  was,  he  saw  the  burning  agony  in  her  eye,  the 
fever  flush  upon  her  cheek,  the  proud  and  bitter  smile  of  a 
slighted  heart  upon  her  lip,  and  he  knew  that  at  a  word,  a 
glance  from  him,  the  pride  would  have  been  subdued,  the 
bitterness  forgotten,  and  she  would  have  cast  herself,  all 
tears  and  submission,  in  his  arms ;  but  not  thus  must  the 
contest  end.  She  must  learn  that  his  will  bowed  not, 
swerved  not  from  its  course,  though  that  course  lay  over 
crushed  and  bleeding  hearts.  As  yet,  he  only  laughed  at 
her  folly — she  had  not  sinned  beyond  forgiveness — but 
the  forgiveness  must  be  sought  by  her,  not  proffered  by 
him. 

The  most  agreeable,  perhaps  we  should  rather  say,  the 
most  tolerable  moment  of  the  evening  to  Evelyn,  was  that 
in  which  the  movements  of  her  companions  told  her  that 
the  entertainment  which  had  brought  them  there  was  at 
an  end.  Of  that  entertainment  she  knew  little.  All  per- 
ception was  with  her  concentrated  on  one  subject.  She 
looked  steadily  on  the  stage,  though  scenes  were  enacting 
there  from  which  she  would  ordinarily  have  turned  away 
with  shame,  if  not  with  disgust.  She  answered  the  gay 


228  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

remarks  of  her  companions  in  as  gay  a  tone,  though  not 
always  to  the  purpose,  and  forgot  the  next  moment  that 
they  had  spoken.  On  her  return  to  Mrs.  Mabury's,  she 
found  Mr.  Beresford  awaiting  her,  and  her  carriage  standing 
at  the  door.  Mrs.  Mabury  proffered  refreshments,  and 
Evelyn,  hoping  at  the  last  for  some  word  or  look  from  her 
husband,  some  sign  that  they  parted  in  sorrow  rather  than 
in  anger,  would  have  gone  in  with  her,  but  Mr.  Beresford 
was  weary,  and  with  more  than  usual  firmness  resisted  all 
proposals  of  delay. 

"  Good-night,  Evelyn,"  said  Euston  Hastings,  offering 
her  his  hand  at  the  carriage-door  ;  "  I  shall  see  you  at  din- 
ner to-morrow." 

Evelyn  could  not  speak — she  could  only  put  her  hand  in 
his.  Hers  was  deathly  cold ;  and  for  a  moment,  he  was 
tempted  to  whisper  some  tenderer  adieu  in  her  ear,  but 
Mr.  Beresford  drew  near,  and  he  moved  aside  for  him.  Mrs. 
Mabury  was  speaking  to  Mr.  Beresford. 

"  You  should  have  gone  with  us  to  the  theatre,"  she  said 
to  him  ;  "  the  ballet  was  really  interesting,  and  the  dancers 
very  tolerable." 

"  Ballet !  was  that  the  entertainment  ?"  he  asked  in  a 
tone  which  sufficiently  marked  his  appreciation  of  it. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Mabury,  "  and  remember  I  here 
throw  down  my  glove  and  challenge  you  the  next  time  we 
meet,  to  the  attack  which  I  see  you  are  longing  to  make 
upon  it." 

"  I  am  an  old  man,  with  old-fashioned  notions  perhaps — 
but,"  said  Mr.  Beresford,  suddenly  checking  himself,  "I 
must  not  enter  the  lists  against  a  lady." 

"  Nay,  by  all  knightly  law,  it  were  discourtesy  not  to  do 
so.  when  she  has  herself  challenged  you  to  the  combat, — so 
say  your  worst." 

"  That  is  soon  done ;  my  best  and  my  worst  on  this  sub- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  229 

ject  is,  God  forbid  that  we  should  continue  to  import  hither 
the  follies  and  vices  of  Europe  !" 

"  But  you  surely  would  not  call  this  a  vice — a  folly  it 
may  be — but  how  much  of  life's  enjoyments  consists  of  grace- 
ful follies." 

"  However  graceful,  unworthy  a  reasoning,  I  will  not  say 
a  religious  being ;  but  this  is  more  than  a  folly.  If  it  be 
not  a  vice,  it  is  the  fruitful  source  of  vice,  by  destroying 
those  delicate  susceptibilities  which  are  among  the  most  ef- 
fectual barriers  against  it." 

"  I  verily  believe,  Mr.  Beresford,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury,  with 
a  laugh,  "  you  people  of  delicate  susceptibilities  would  have 
us  clothe  our  statues  and  drape  our  paintings." 

"  Not  while  paintings  and  statues  express  that  ideal  beau- 
ty whose  passionless  repose  shows  it  to  be  not  '  of  the 
earth,  earthy,'  and  the  contemplation  of  which,  by  elevating 
us  to  its  own  sphere,  places  us  beyond  the  influence  of  ad- 
ventitious circumstances ;  but  let  a  painting  or  statue  be- 
come expressive  in  countenance  or  attitude  of  human  pas- 
sion, and  I  should  wish  it  draped.  I  speak  freely,  my  dear 
lady,  but  you  will  pardon  an  old  man  who  feels  assured 
that  your  own  memory  of  the  feelings  with  which  you  first 
saw  these  exhibitions  abroad,  will  bear  witness  to  the  truth 
of  his  sentiments." 

"  Nay,  nay — this  is  too  much,  to  expect  me  to  testify 
against  myself;  but  it  is  too  late  and  too  chilly  to  stand 
talking  here  any  longer.  I  must  take  another  opportunity 
to  parry  your  home-thrusts.  Good-night." 

"  Come  out  with  Mr.  Hastings  to-morrow,  and  dine  with 
us,  and  we  will  end  the  combat." 

"  Very  well — I  will,  and  Evelyn  and  Mr.  Hastings  shall 
be  our  umpires." 

The  carriage  was  already  in  motion,  and  Evelyn  was 
spared  the  necessity  of  replying.  When  Euston  Hastings 
20 


230  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

left  her,  she  had  sunk  back  intc  the  carriage,  and  Mr. 
Bere  ford,  finding  her  indisposed  tc  converse,  and  supposing 
that  she  was  wearied,  sxiffered  her  to  rest  there  while  he 
slept  or  seemed  to  sleep  in  the  opposite  corner.  At  Beres- 
ford  Hall,  declining  refreshments,  Evelyn  retired  immediate- 
ly to  her  own  room.  The  jewels  still  sparkled  brightly  in 
her  hair,  and  on  her  neck  and  arms,  but  the  brightness  had 
faded  from  her  eyes,  the  flush  from  her  cheeks.  Pale  and 
worn,  she  undressed  hastily  and  threw  herself  upon  her  bed, 
— for  the  first  time  within  her  memory,  without  a  prayer. 
Feeding  bitter  and  resentful  passions  in  her  heart,  Evelyn 
dared  not  pray,  and  experience  had  not  yet  taught  her  that 
the  fruit  of  such  passions  must  be  like  themselves,  bitter. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNT  ER-CHARMS.         231 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

«'  Some  murmur  when  their  sky  is  clear 

And  golden  bright  to  view, 
If  but  one  speck  of  dark  appear 

In  their  great  Heaven  of  blue  ; 
And  some  with  thankful  love  are  filled 

If  but  one  gleam  of  light, 
One  ray  of  God's  good  mercy,  gild 

The  darkness  of  their  night" 

THE  reconciliation  of  lovers  may  be  the  renewal  of  love, 
provided  the  reconciliation  be  prompt,  full,  free ;  but  the 
danger  in  all  quarrels,  and  especially  in  domestic  quarrels, 
is,  that  circumstances  shall  compel  a  cessation  of  hostilities 
without  a  true  reconciliation,  and  there  is  no  surer  death  to 
affection  than  this  hollow  peace,  in  which  the  heart  has  no 
share.  Such  was  the  peace  which  at  this  time  existed  be- 
tween Evelyn  and  Euston  Hastings.  Had  their  first  meet- 
ing on  his  return  from  New  York  been  .without  witnesses, 
she  would  probably  have  given  utterance  to  all  the  sorrow, 
anger,  and  jealous  love,  whose  smothered  fires  were  consu- 
ming her  heart ;  but  Mrs.  Mabury  was  with  him,  and  though 
Evelyn's  hand  trembled  when  she  placed  it  in  his,  and  he 
read  something  of  reproach  in  her  eyes,  she  bore  herself 
so  bravely  through  the  day,  that  even  her  father  did  not 
suspect  her  hidden  agony,  while  to  Mrs.  Mabury  she  seemed 
more  gay  and  talkative  than  she  had  ever  seen  her. 

This  first  moment  lost,  Evelyn  would  perhaps  have  found 
it  difficult  with  any  to  call  up  the  past,  and  give  and  ob- 


232  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

tain  that  full  explanation  necessary  to  satisfy  the  heart; 
and  what  would  have  been  difficult  with  others  was  impos- 
sible with  Euston  Hastings,  wh<  n  he  had  determined,  as  in 
the  present  instance,  to  avoid  what  he  called  a  "  scene."  His 
conduct  was  so  nicely  modulated,  that  while  it  gave  her  no 
reason  for  complaint,  it  held  out  to  her  no  encouragement 
for  confidence.  There  was  no  angry  word  or  look  to  call 
forth  the  waters  of  bitterness,  no  demonstration  of  love  to 
unseal  the  fountain  of  tenderness  in  her  heart.  One  after- 
noon he  entered  his  room  in  search  of  a  book  which  he  had 
left  there.  Evelyn  had  thrown  herself  upon  the  bed,  and 
slept  in  an  attitude  so  graceful,  that  he  paused  beside  her 
in  admiration.  Suddenly  her  lips  quivered,  she  caught  her 
breath  sobbingly,  and  murmured  a  few  words,  of  which  he 
could  only  distinguish,  "  Love  me  !  oh,  love  me  !" 

For  an  instant  his  heart  relented ;  he  bent  over  her,  but 
ere  word  or  touch  had  roused  her,  other  thoughts  came,  and 
he  withdrew  quickly  and  noiselessly.  He  had  brought  away 
the  book  he  sought,  but  it  was  long  unread.  He  was  not 
satisfied  with  himself,  but  to  all  the  reproaches  of  his  awa- 
kened heart  he  replied,  "  I  cannot  live  in  the  perpetual  ex- 
citement which  Evelyn's  exacting  nature  would  create  for 
me,  if  it  were  not  repressed.  Life  can  never  be  joyous  for 
me,  for  whom  it  is  ever  overshadowed  by  death — never- 
ending  death ;  but  at  least  I  will  preserve  it  calm,  and 
snatch  from  it  the  few  pleasures  it  contains." 

Thus  flowed  away  Evelyn's  life,  smoothly  on  the  surface, 
darkly  and  roughly  below,  till  November,  when  the  house 
which  Euston  Hastings  had  taken  in  the  city  was  ready  to 
receive  them.  She  had  begun  to  look  forward  to  this  event 
with  pleasure,  as  probably  compelling  some  confidence  be- 
tween them,  but  Euston  Hastings  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
that  there  had  ever  been  any  doubt  of  her  accompanying 
him,  and  all  his  arrangements  vere  made  in  such  a  quiet, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  233 

unhesitating  manner,  that  Evelyn  fell  into  them  as  a  matter 
of  course.  She  found  that  every  attention  which  the  warm- 
est affection  could  have  suggested,  had  been  paid  not  only 
to  her  comfort,  but  to  her  taste,  in  the  arrangement  of 
those  apartments  destined  for  her.  In  her  chamber  and 
her  dressing-room  all  was  luxurious  elegance,  no  comfort 
had  been  forgotten, — and  below-stairs,  the  conservatory 
had  been  filled  with  her  favorite  flowers,  and  a  room  open- 
ing upon  it  had  been  furnished  with  musical  instruments,  a 
small  bookcase,  a  few  lounging  chairs,  and  vases  already 
holding  exquisite  bouquets. 

"  This  is  your  room,  Evelyn,"  said  Euston  Hastings,  as 
he  introduced  her  to  it. 

A  few  weeks  before,  Evelyn  would  have  thrown  herself 
into  his  arms,  and  thanked  him  there  for  what  she  would 
have  regarded  as  a  new  proof  of  love.  Now,  she  answered 
sadly  and  almost  coldly,  "  I  know  not  how  to  thank  you." 

"  Let  me  see  you  cheerful  and  happy,  Evelyn,  and  I 
shall  need  no  other  thanks." 

Happy !  what  a  mockery  seemed  the  word  so  spoken  to 
Evelyn !  She  soon  discovered  that  the  life  they  led  in  the 
city  was  not  calculated  to  draw  nearer  hearts  already  sep- 
arated. Well-nigh  all  the  day,  and  not  unfrequently  much 
of  the  night,  was  spent  by  Euston  Hastings  in  the  pursuit 
of  pleasures  which  are  found  only  in  a  crowd.  They  rarely 
met  without  observers,  except  at  breakfast,  and  then  the 
morning  paper,  or  the  recapitulation  of  his  evening's  amuse- 
ment, effectually  warded  off  any  effort  which  Evelyn  might 
have  been  disposed  to  make  at  more  interesting  conversa- 
tion. And  soon  Evelyn  felt  with  him,  that  the  best  which 
she  could  win  from  life  was  a  fleeting  excitement,  scarcely 
deserving  the  name  of  pleasure.  There  was  no  hope  that 
the  destruction  of  her  earthly  joys  would  elevate  her  to  a 
higher  sphere  of  thought  and  feeling,  for  there  was  no  sub- 
20* 


234  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

mission  in  her  heart.  If  she  were  not  prepared,  like  the 
impious  wife  of  Job,  to  "curse  God  and  die,"  she  would, 
like  the  prophet,  have  justified  herself  and  exclaimed  against 
the  voice  of  rebuke — "  I  do  well  to  be  angry."  Her  whole 
being  was  swayed  by  one  wild,  passionate  desire  which  she 
would  not  relinquish,  and  dared  not  bring  into  the  presence 
of  the  Holiest.  She  had  therefore  ceased  to  pray,  shutting 
herself  up  by  her  own  will  to  the  darkness  of  despair — a 
darkness  broken  only  by  fitful  and  lurid  flashes  of  senseless 
mirth. 

Evelyn  became  the  belle  of  the  season.  The  presence 
of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Hastings  made  a  play  or  concert  pop- 
ular, or  a  party  the  fashion.  The  wise  observed  her  course 
with  sorrow  and  apprehension. 

"  Really  Mrs.  Hastings  is  making  herself  quite  remark- 
able. Did  you  observe  how  she  flirted  with  Mr. last 

evening  ? — in  her  husband's  presence  too  !" 

The  speaker  little  thought  that  her  husband's  presence 
had  been  Evelyn's  only  temptation  to  the  flirtation. 

"  Poor  thing  !  she  is  to  be  pitied — she  was  married  so 
young,  and  to  one  old  enough  for  her  father." 

Such  were  the  observations  of.  the  malicious,  and  the  ex- 
cuses of  the  charitable. 

Mrs.  Mabury  was  happy  again,  for  Euston  Hastings  was 
scarcely  less  in  her  society  than  he  had  been  in  his  days  of 
bachelorhood,  while  she  and  Evelyn  met  oftener  at  other 
houses  than  their  own.  Euston  Hastings  never  spoke  to 
her  of  Evelyn,  but  she  thought  he  must  have  begun  to 
doubt  the  truth  of  that  passionate  devotion,  which  she  be- 
lieved to  have  been  her  chief  charm  in  his  eyes,  and  which 
seemed  to  Mrs.  Mabury  quite  irreconcilable  with  her  present 
life.  In  this,  however,  Mrs.  Mabury  was  mistaken.  Euston 
Hastings  was  too  well  skille  I  in  the  heart's  lore  to  doubt 
Evelyn  for  a  moment.  He  saw  that  her  most  violent  flirta- 


CHARMS  AND  COULTER-CHARMS.  235 

tions  were  intended  solely  for  his  observation,  and  they  ex- 
cited only  a  smile  at  her  folly. 

But  if  Euston  Hastings  was  satisfied,  Mr.  Beresford  was 
not.  He  saw  Evelyn  frequently,  and  amid  all  her  gayety, 
there  was  something  in  her  tone  which  made  him  doubt 
that  she  was  happy,  while  he  grieved  over  the  transforma- 
tion of  his  simple-hearted,  and  as  he  had  hoped,  religiously 
thoughtful  Evelyn,  into  a  worldly  woman  of  fashion.  In 
his  perplexity  and  chagrin,  his  thoughts  turned  to  his 
ward,  Mary  Raymond. 

"Women  understand  each  other,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Mary  would  soon  find  out  what  is  the  matter  with  Evelyn, 
and  by  her  gentle  seriousness,  she  would,  perhaps,  win  her 
to  a  more  rational  and  quiet  life." 

With  such  hopes  he  wrote  to  Mary,  telling  her  of  the 
loneliness  to  which  Evelyn's  removal  had  condemned  him, 
and  entreating  her  to  come  and  take  the  place  of  the 
daughter  he  had  been  compelled  to  relinquish  to  another. 
Mary  obeyed  the  summons  promptly,  though  at  the  thought 
of  returning  to  Beresford  Hall,  bitter  memories  awoke 
within  her,  and  for  a  while  she  shrank  from  scenes  asso- 
ciated with  humiliation  and  conflict.  She  feared,  too,  the 
influence  of  those  scenes  upon  her  peace — she  feared  that 
a  voice  would  echo  through  the  lialls,  that  a  form  would 
glide  through  the  dim  woods  or  stand  beside  the  sounding 
shore,  which  it  was  not  well  for  her  to  remember,  except 
at  the  solemn  hour  of  prayer,  when  her  spirit,  surmounting 
all  the  accidents  of  time  and  sense,  could  bring  its  loved 
ones  with  it  into  the  very  presence  of  the  Eternal,  where 
no  selfish  desire,  no  murmuring  thought  dared  intrude. 

For  eight  long  months  had  Everard  Irving  been  a  wan- 
derer from  home  and  friends,  and  what  grieved  Mary  far 
more,  from  duties.  It  is  true,  his  fortune  was  such  as 
rendered  it  unnecessary  for  him  to  be  very  diligent  in  the 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


practice  of  his  profession  for  his  own  sake,  but  he  was  a 
man,  and  for  him  too,  there  were  duties  to  his  fellow- 
men — duties  incompatible  with  his  giving  so  much  of  life 
to  no  higher  purpose  than  forgetfulness.  Mary  had  re- 
ceived no  direct  communication  from  him  during  his  ab- 
sence, but  rumors  that  he  had  been  seen,  now  in  Italy,  now 
in  Germany,  and  again  in  Switzerland,  had  reached  her 
ear.  From  Mr.  Beresford  painfully  interesting  intelligence 
respecting  him  awaited  her.  A  fire,  destroying  much 
property  in  that  part  of  the  city  where  property  is  most 
valuable,  had  occurred  just  before  her  arrival. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Beresford,  a  few  days  after  her 
coming,  as  they  sat  at  breakfast  together,  "  I  am  sorry  to 
learn  that  our  friend  Irving  has  lost  a  great  deal  by  this 
fire.  I  hope  it  is  not  so  bad  as  his  agent  Banker  thinks. 
He  came  to  me  the  other  day,  like  a  miserly  dog  as  he 
is,  to  consult  me  on  the  propriety  of  honoring  Mr.  Irving's 
last  draft  for  a  thousand  dollars,  which  he  had  just  received 
from  Paris.  He  says,  that  just  before  Mr.  Irving  went 
away,  he  sold  out  every  thing  he  possessed,  and  invested 
his  whole  capital  in  two  stores  which  have  been  burned, 
and  that  by  an  oversight  of  his  own,  for  which  I  told  him 
he  ought  to  be  compelled  to  make  good  the  loss,  the  in- 
surance had  run  out  the  very  day  before  the  fire,  and  had 
only  been  renewed  in  one  office,  and  that,  it  is  supposed 
cannot  pay  ten  cents  on  a  dollar  of  its  debts.  To  make  the 
ruin  more  complete,  these  stores  were  built  on  leased 
ground,  and  the  lease  had  nearly  expired.  It  was  an  un- 
wise purchase  in  Mr.  Irving,  I  think ;  but  it  seems  there 
was  an  article  in  the  lease  compelling  the  owners  of  th* 
ground  to  renew  it,  on  its  termination,  or  to  buy  the  build- 
ings at  a  fair  valuation." 

"  And  does  Mr.  Irving's  draft  remain  unpaid  ?"  inquired 
Mary. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  237 

"  Oh  no  !  I  saw  to  that  at  once." 

"  Then  Mr.  Irving  owes  you  a  thousand  dollars,"  said 
Mary  after  a  short  pause. 

"  It  is  a  debt  of  which  I  hope  he  will  never  hear,  if  his 
affairs  be  really  in  the  condition  that  Banker  represents. 
I  told  him  that  I  would  advance  the  money  for  this  draft, 
provided  he  would  say  nothing  to  Mr.  Irving  of  the  source 
from  which.-  it  came.  I  advised,  however,  that  he  &nould 
lose  no  time  in  giving  him  information  of  the  disaster  which 
had  occurred,  and  of  his  consequent  inability  to  meet  any 
future  demands." 

A  long  silence  followed  this  communication.  Mr.  Beres- 
ford  had  taken  up  the  morning  paper,  and  Mary  did  not 
seem  disposed  to  interrupt  his  reading.  At  length  he 
laid  it  aside  and  rose  from  table. 

"  May  I  say  a  few  words  to  you  before  you  go  ?"  asked 
Mary. 

Her  tone  was  quick,  eager,  yet  embarrassed,  as  if  she 
spoke  with  difficulty,  and  feared  her  own  strength  if  she 
paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Certainly,  as  many  as  you  will — but  I  hope  you  have 
not  been  felling  in  love,  and  promising  to  leave  me  for 
somebody  else,"  he  added,  with  a  good-humored  smile  as 
he  placed  himself  at  her  side,  and  looked  into  her  flushed 
and  agitated  face. 

"  Oh  no  !  I  only  wished  to  ask  you — to  propose  to  you — " 

"  Is  it  any  thing  in  relation  to  Mr.  Irving's  affairs  ?"*  asked 
Mr.  Beresford,  seeing  the  difficulty  with  which  she  spoke. 

"It  is — Everard  Irving  has  always  been  to  me  as  a  brother; 
it  would  be  my  desire,  I  am  sure  it  would  have  been  my 
father's  had  he  lived  to  this  time,  that  he  should  share  my 
fortune,  such  as  it  is." 

"  Such  as  it  is  !  it  is  a  very  handsome  fortune,  let  me  teL 
you,  Mary." 


238  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"I  would  none  the  less  gladly,  sir,  share  it  with  one 
whom,  as  I  have  already  said,  I  have  been  accustomed  to 
regard  as  a  brother — but  this,  I  suppose,  could  hardly  be 
done  without  his  knowing  it,  and  that  would,  I  fear,  en- 
sure its  rejection ;  but  could  not  a  smaller  sum,  yet  not 
too  small  to  secure  to  him  the  comforts  to  which  he  has 
been  accustomed,  be  paid  to  his  agent  as  if  from  that  in- 
surance office  ;" — Mr.  Beresford  shook  his  head — "  or  in 
some  way  that  would  make  it  appear  as  the  product  of  his 
own  property?" 

"  I  will  see  Banker  this  morning,  and  ascertain  what  can 
be  done, — but  my  dear  child,  there  is  one  difficulty  which 
has  not  occurred  to  you.  You  are  not  of  age,  and  I  do 
not  think  I  can  with  any  propriety  permit  you  to  alienate 
any  large  amount  of  your  property." 

Mary  looked  distressed. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Beresford !"  she  exclaimed  after  a  moment's 
struggle  to  speak  without  tears,  "  if  this  be  not  done  now, 
before  Everard  Irving  returns,  it  can  never  be  done.  I 
pray  you  do  not  deny  me  so  great  a  gratification." 

"  Mary,  I  know  not  what  to  say.  My  heart  is  with  you, 
but  I  know  it  would  be  vain  to  hope  for  Mr.  Martin's  con- 
currence in  any  such  arrangement,  and  that  would  be 
necessary  to  render  it  valid.  This  I  may  do — I  can  ad- 
vance a  few  thousands — not  more  than  five — for  you, 
and  you  can  repay  me  when  you  are  of  age.  Will  this 
do?'-' 

"  Thank  you — thank  you — it  is  more  than  I  could  have 
expected  from  you,  though  very  little  for  him." 

"  I  would  gladly  do  more  for  you  if  I  could,  but  I  called 
in  all  the  ready  money  I  had  at  Evelyn's  marriage,  and  I 
really  cannot  command  more  at  present.  Perhaps,"  he 
added,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "it  may  be  better  so  for 
Mr.  Irving  himself.  The  unbending  necessities  of  life  con- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  239 

trolling  his  exuberant  imagination,  and  forcing  him  from  the 
indulgence  of  morbid  regrets  into  action,  may  do  more  for 
his  true  happiness  than  wealth  has  done  or  can  do." 

It  was  a  suggestion  full  of  comfort  to  Mary.  This  might 
indeed  be  for  Everard  the  wise  discipline  of  a  Father's  love, 
and  she  would  not  avert  it  if  she  could. 

"  But  the  small  sum  you  have  named  would  not  free  him 
from  the  necessity  of  action,"  she  said,  doubtfully,  to  Mr. 
Beresford. 

"  No — it  would  only  lend  to  action  the  stimulus  of  hope. 
It  will  be  a  work  of  time  for  him  to  get  into  practice  as  a 
lawyer — this  will  save  him  from  want  until  he  does  so." 

"  With  this,  then,  I  will  be  satisfied.  Will  you  see  to  it 
this  morning  for  me  ?  I  need  not  ask  that  you  will  say 
nothing  to  any  one  else  on  the  subject." 

"  Certainly  not — I  will  order — shall  I  order  the  carriage, 
and  take  you  to  Evelyn's,  before  I  go  to  Banker's?" 

Mary  knew  that  Mr.  Beresford  wished  her  to  go,  and 
therefore  she  assented.  She  had  seen  Evelyn  several  times, 
both  at  Beresford  Hall  and  in  the  city,  but  she  could 
scarcely  be  said  to  have  conversed  with  her  yet.  She  had 
found  her  full  of  a  restless,  and,  as  Mary  thought,  affected 
gayety,  talking  much,  but  on  subjects  far  removed  from 
herself.  But  Mary  had  only  seen  Evelyn  hitherto  when  she 
had  expected  and  prepared  for  the  meeting.  This  morning 
she  came  upon  her  unawares,  and  she  found  her  at  the 
breakfast-table,  alone  and  in  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Evelyn  ? — where  is  Mr.  Hast- 
ings ?"  she  exclaimed,  with  anxiety. 

"  Taking  his  coffee  in  his  dressing-room  ;  so  you  sit  down 
and  take  yours  with  me,  and  just  forget  that  you  have  seen 
these  foolish  tears.  I  feel  so  miserably  in  the  morning,  that 
I  am  very  apt,  if  left  to  myself,  to  end  with  a  hearty  cry." 

"  Then  you  should  not  be  left  to  yourself.     Why  do  you 


"  \Vh;it!  jealous,  Evelyn  ?     i>ow  mi 
If  Mr.  Hastings  had  preferred  Mrs.  Mabury  to  you,  why  did 
he  not  marry  her  when  he  was  perfectly  free  to  do  so  ?" 

Evelyn  was  silent. 

"  Does  Mr.  Hastings  know  your  doubts,  your  unhappi- 
ness,  Fvelyn?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  rarely  see  him  alone,  and  I  try,  when 
he  is  present,  to  be  as  gay  and  as  cold  as  he  is." 

"  Is  that  right  ? — nay,  is  it  wise,  Eva  ?" 

"  I  thought  he  loved  me,  and  that  he  could  not  bear  such 
coldness — that  he  would  learn  to  value  my  love  when  he 
feared  to  lose  it." 

'  Oh  Evelyn !  pardon  me,  but  this  was  all  unworthy  of 
you — the  conduct,  the  motives.  You  were  blinded  by  pas- 
sion, Evelyn, — a  bad  guide  always." 

"  Mary,  you  know  not  what  it  is  to  love  as  I  have  done 
— as  I  do — to  give  your  life,  your  soul  to  one  object,  and 
to  be  met  by  an  indifference  which  kills  you,  yet  which  does 
not  permit  you  to  complain." 

"  Evelyn,  pardon  me  again,  I  pray  you — but  should  we 
give  life  and  soul  to  an  earthly  object  ?" 


CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  241 

"  Oil  Mary !  do  not  talk  to  me  so — I  cannot  bear  a  lec- 
,ure  now,"  said  Evelyn,  hastily. 

"  And  I  would  not  give  you  pain  for  worlds,  but  believe 
me,  dear  Evelyn,  all  happiness  must  be  brief  which  is  found- 
ed on  such  a  mistake."  Evelyn  made  a  gesture  of  impa- 
tience, and  Mary  continued,  "  But  even  for  this  shortlived 
happiness  you  have  not,  I  think,  acted  wisely." 

"  And  what  should  I  have  done,  Mary  ?  I  will  do  any 
thing — any  thing — for  one  word,  one  look  of  tenderness  from 
him." 

"  I  may  be  wrong,  Evelyn,  but  it  seems  to  me,  that  feel- 
ing as  you  do  to  Mr.  Hastings,  far  from  braving  his  anger, 
and  endeavoring  to  seem  indifferent  to  Lis  coldness,  you 
should  at  once  have  thrown  yourself  upon  his  heart,  and 
let  him  see  the  grief  he  caused  you." 

"  But  he  cannot  bear  tears — they  always  drive  him  from 
me." 

"  That  probably  would  depend  on  the  cause  of  the  tears : 
if  they  were  expressive  of  dissatisfaction  with  him,  he 
would  very  naturally  dislike  them ;  but  if  they  proceeded 
from  sorrow  for  having  displeased  him,  from  dissatisfaction 
with  yourself — " 

"  But  how  can  that  be,  Mary  ?  how  can  I  be  dissatisfied 
with  myself,  when  I  have  done  nothing — nothing  but  love 
him  too  well.  Surely  it  cannot  be  right  that  I  should 
never  differ  from  him — that  his  will  should  be  a  law  to  my 
very  thoughts  and  feelings." 

"  And  yet  if  your  life,  your  soul  be  given  to  him,  Evelyn, 
it  must  be  so." 

"  And  is  this  right  ?" 

"  No,  Evelyn ;  it  is  only  God,  the  All-Perfect,  who 
should  thus  sway  our  being :  yet,  Evelyn,  there  can  be 
nothing  wrong  in  so  loving  another  as  to  prefer  their  grati- 
fication— their  will,  if  you  choose — to  our  own,  in  all  in 
21 


242  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

•which  a  principle  is  not  involved,  and  if  we  do  this,  we 
shall  be  dissatisfied  with  ourselves  when  we  displease  them 
for  any  thing  less  than  the  performance  of  a  higher  duty. 
Was  it  for  this  that  you  braved  the  displeasure  of  Mr. 
Hastings,  Evelyn  ?" 

"I  hardly  know  what  or  how  it, was,  Mary.  At  first  he 
wounded  me  by  seeming  so  indifferent  to  nay  wishes  in  re- 
moving from  my  father's,  and  then — it  is  impossible  to  re- 
collect every  thing,  Mary, — but  he  was  so  cold  and  careless 
that  1  believe  he  drove  me  mad." 

"  Ah,  Evelyn !  was  it  like  true  love  thus  to  combat  for  its 
own  selfish  desires  ?". 

"  Mary,  you  cannot  doubt  my  love  for  my  husband,  what- 
ever else  you  do.  Love  him  !  How  gladly  would  I  die  at 
his  feet  this  moment  but  to  hear  him  say,  My  Evelyn !  life 
has  no  joy  for  me  without  you  !" 

Mary  sighed  and  was  silent.  What  could  she  say  to  one 
who  so  little  understood  what  she  regarded  as  the  first 
element  of  love — a  generous  preference  of  the  happiness  of 
the  beloved  object  to  our  own.  What  Evelyn  considered  a 
proof  of  devoted  love,  seemed  to  Mary  to  indicate  but  the 
selfishness  of  passion.  She,  too,  could  die  for  one,  but  it 
would  be  to  secure  for  him  life  and  life's  best  blessings,  not 
to  win  for  herself  the  assurance  that  she  was  necessary  to 
him. 

"  But  Mary,  you  have  not  told  me  what  I  should  do 
now,"  said  Evelyn,  when  she  found  that  Mary  continued 
silent ;  "  can  I  do  nothing  ?  must  I  live  on  in  hopeless 
despair  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  Evelyn  !  If  reconciliation  with  your  husband  and 
the  recovery  of  his  love,  be  indeed  your  first  object,  despair 
not,  for  that  to  which  we  are  willing  to  sacrifice  all  else,  we 
rarely  fail  to  attain, — but  you  must  show  this  willingness, 
and  the  first  thing  rou  will  need  to  sacrifice  now,  is  your 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  243 

pride.  You  must  go  to  your  husband,  and  tell  him  all 
you  have  suffered  and  do  suffer  in  this  separation  from 
him." 

"  I  would  have  done  so  many  days  ago,  if  he  had  given 
me  an  opportunity." 

"  You  must  make  an  opportunity.  You  say  he  is  in  his 
room — go  to  him  there,  now." 

"  Go  there — to  his  dressing-room — 1  cannot :  besides, 
Dixon  is  there,  now,"  and  Evelyn  turned  pale  with  agita- 
tion, at  the  thought  of  thus  forcing  herself  into  her  hus- 
band's presence.  She  had  scarcely  spoken,  however,  when 
Dixon  presented  himself  at  the  door  of  the  breakfast-room, 
to  ask  for  the  morning  paper  for  Mr.  Hastings. 

"  There  it  is,  Evelyn,"  said  Mary  quickly ;  "  you  were 
goi~g  up  to  Mr.  Hastings,  you  had  better  take  it,  and  toll 
Dixon  you  will  ring  for  him  when  he  is  wanted." 

Evelyn  took  the  paper,  and  moved  towards  the  door  with 
trembling  steps.  Her  courage  failed,  and  she  turned  ir- 
resolutely back,  looking  so  pale,  that  Mary  poured  out  a 
glass  of  water  and  met  her  with  it.  Evelyn  put  it  aside. 

"  Courage,  Evelyn  !"  whispered  Mary  ;  "  I  would  see  you 
happy  before  I  leave  you." 

The  thought  brought  a  faint  smile  to  Evelyn's  lip.  Again 
she  went  on,  and  this  time  with  firmer  resolution,  for  she 
accomplished  her  purpose. 

Dixon  still  waited  respectfully  at  the  door  until  Mary, 
recollecting  that  he  had  received  no  orders,  said,  "  Mrs. 
Hastings  will  ring  for  you  when  you  are  wanted,  Dixon." 

He  bowed,  and  withdrew  with  an  expression  of  pleasure 
in  his  countenance,  which  made  Mary  suspect  that  he  was 
not  wholly  ignorant  of  the  domestic  relations  of  his  mas- 
ter, whom  he  had  served  faithfully  for  more  than  twenty 
years. 

Mary  remained  full  of   anxious .  thought  for  Evelyn — 


244  CHARMS  AND  CO  JNTER-CHARMS. 

hopeful  for  the  present,  fearful  for  the  future — feeling  that 
permanent  happiness  could  not  be  the  result  of  such  aban- 
donment to  the  wild  impulses  of  passion,  as  she  betrayed 
in  every  word.  Thus  minutes  glided  away,  till  a  half 
hour — three-quarters  had  passed,  and  still  her  meditation 
had  been  broken  by  nothing  more  interesting  than  the 
entrance  of  the  servants  to  remove  the  breakfast-table. 
But  now  steps  are  heard  approaching.  Can  that  be  Evelyn 
who  comes  springing  so  lightly  forward,  with  a  face  still 
wet  with  recent  tears,  yet  bright  with  smiles,  followed  by 
Euston  Hastings,  with  his  stern  lineaments  wearing  more  of 
softness  than  Mary  had  ever  seen  on  them  before  ! 

"  Miss  Raymond,"  he  said,  as  he  entered,  "  Evelyn  has 
brought  me  here  to  make  an  apology  for  her  leaving  you 
so  long.  Instead  of  apologizing,  however,  I  will  frankly  tell 
you  that  I  do  not  know  another  lady  whom  she  would  have 
treated  so  badly — " 

"  Ah,  traitor !"  exclaimed  Evelyn. 

"  For  it  is  only  with  those  she  loves  that  she  takes  such 
liberties,"  continued  Euston  Hastings,  smilingly. 

He  remained  a  few  minutes  conversing  with  Mary  in  an 
easy,  playful  strain. 

"  I  hope,  Eva,"  he  said  at  length,  "  that  Miss  Raymond 
will  spend  the  day  with  you,  though  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
enjoy  the  pleasure  of  her  company  myself,  as  I  promised 
yesterday  to  dine  with  a  friend  who  is  just  about  sailing  foi 
Europe." 

"  Are  you  going  to  leave  me  to-day  ?"  asked  Evelyn, 
with  an  almost  reproachful  emphasis  on  the  last  word — at 
least  so  Euston  Hastings  understood  it,  for  he  answered, 

"Do  not  reproach  me  with  my  misfortune." 

"  Will  you  stay  with  me,  Mary '?" 

Mary  declined,  for  she  feared  that  Mr.  Beresford  would 
not  find  an  opportunity,  while  she  was  there,  of  communi- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  245 

eating  to  her  the  result  of  those  efforts  in  which  she  was  so 
deeply  interested. 

"  Then  I  will  go  with  you  and  papa,"  said  Evelyn. 

"  Do  so,  Eva,  and  I  will  come  for  you  this  evening." 

"Will  you?  Oh,  that  will  be  delightful!"  exclaimed 
Evelyn,  dismissing  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  which  had  begun 
to  darken  her  brow. 

Euston  Hastings  made  his  adieus,  but  returned  to  say, 
"  Persuade  Miss  Raymond  and  your  father  to  return  your 
visit  to-morrow,  Eva,  and  I  will  engage  some  of  Mr.'  Beres- 
ford's  old  friends  to  meet  him  at  dinner." 

Evelyn  felt  that  this  was  intended  as  a  delicate  attention 
to  herself,  and  as  the  closing  of  the  street-door  assured  her 
that  her  husband  was  actually  gone,  she  threw  herself  into 
Mary's  arms,  exclaiming,  "  You  have  taught  me  the  way  to 
his  heart,  Mary,  and  I  can  never  long  be  unhappy  again." 

Mary  endeavored  to  insinuate  that  it  was  a  way  which 
must  not  be  tried  too  often,  but  Evelyn  was  too  happy  for 
cautions — she  would  listen  to  nothing  but  her  own  happy 
auguries. 

That  night,  as  Mary  thought  over  the  events  of  the  day, 
with  her  gratitude  that  she  had  seen  Evelyn  restored  again 
to  peace,  and  her  deeper  and  more  joyous  emotion  that, 
through  Mr.  Beresford,  she  had  been  able  to  interpose  some 
defence,  slight .  though  she  felt  it  to  be,  between  a  dearer 
friend  and  the  first  crushing  stroke  of  evil  fortune,  was  min- 
gled trembling  for  both.  She  could  find  rest  for  her  appre- 
hensions only  in  the  thought,  that  for  them,  as  for  her,  this 
darkened  or  cloud-environed  earth  was  overarched  by  a 
clear,  serene  Heaven, — that  for  them,  too,  might 

"  The  night  be  mother  of  the  day, 
The  winter  of  the  spring  " 

21* 


246  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  XIV.       ' 

"  Behind  the  cloud  the  starlight  lurks, 

Through  showers  the  sunbeams  fall  ; 
For  God,  who  loveth  all  His  works, 
Hath  left  His  hope  with  all." 

J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

EVERARD  IRVING'S  love  for  Evelyn  had  been  a  passion,  to 
which  the  slight  obstacles  opposed  by  Mr.  Beresford  had 
but  added  intensity.  Its  disappointment  had  "  sicklied  o'er 
with  the  pale  cast"  of  his  own  sorrowful  thoughts  every  ob- 
ject, in  creation.  All  persons  and  places  which  could  by 
any  possibility  be  associated  with  his  brief  dream  of  joy 
and  its  wreck,  became  distasteful  to  him,  and  he  fled  from 
them  all  to  the  wild  solitudes  of  Nature.  He  paused  not 
even  for  a  glance  at  the  wonders  of  London  or  the  splendors 
of  Paris  ;  but,  goaded  by  passionate  impulses,  hastened  from 
their  unsympathizing  crowds  to  the  craggy  mountains  and 
secluded  dells  of  Switzerland.  As  the  opening  summer 
brought  fashionable  tourists  thither,  he  hurried  off  to  the 
rude  forests  of  Hungary,  and  thence  to  the  then  little  sought 
regions  of  Sweden  and  Denmark.  la  a  few  weeks  the  ex- 
citement under  which  he  had  left  America  had  passed  away, 
but  it  had  been  followed  by  a  languor  equally  removed  from 
health.  Evelyn  was  almost,  if  not  quite  forgotten ;  but  his 
affections  seemed  to  have  exhausted  themselves,  and  in 
ceasing  to  love  ler,  he  appeared  to  have  ceased  to  love  at 
all.  It  was  th»  natural  effect  of  experiences  such  as  his,  on 
a  character  into  which  the  great  principle,  that  duties  and 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  247 

not  pleasures  are  the  objects  of  life,  had  not  yet  been  burned 
by  the  fire  of  adversity.  Under  a  trial  in  some  degree  sim- 
ilar to  that  which  he  endured,  Mary,  with  more  confirmed 
religious  faith  and  consequently  higher  principles,  had  turned 
easily  to  this  great  practical  truth,  and  had  found,  in  the  good 
she  did,  consolation  for  the  evil  she  had  suffered  ;  while  Mrs. 
Mabury,  with  a  lower  moral  standard,  a  less  pure  moral 
taste  than  he  possessed,  had  sought  a  balsam  for  her  wound- 
ed spirit  in  reckless  mirth  and  vain  shows.  Elevated  above 
the  last,  while  he  had  not  attained  to  the  first,  Everard 
wandered  hither  and  thither  seeking  rest,  yet  finding  none. 
The  great  danger  of  such  a  condition  lay  in  its  anti-social 
tendencies.  He  who  had  been  so  large-hearted,  of  such 
warm,  cordial  sympathies,  now  looked  with  indifference  up- 
on almost  every  form  of  human  emotion.  This  proceeded 
in  part  from  a  latent  distrust,  a  feeling  not  that  the  joy  or 
sorrow  which  appeared  on  the  surface  actually  was,  but 
that  it  might  be  false,  and  in  part  from  a  reserve  which  was 
becoming  daily  more  unconquerable. 

With  such  habits  as  we  have  described,  Everard  Irving's 
personal  expenses  had  not  been  great,  but  he  had  in  a  few 
months  spent  thousands  in  the  purchase  of  objects  of  art. 
Few  persons  in  the  United  States  at  that  time  could  boast  such 
treasures  in  painting  and  statuary  as  those  of  which  he  had  be- 
come master.  This  revival  of  his  early  tastes  was  favorable  to 
the  return  of  healthier  feelings,  for  it  was  associated  with  his 
first  and  most  confiding  affections.  He  could  not  see  a  fine 
painting  without  thought  of  Mr.  Manelli,  his  first  and  only 
master  in  the  art,  and  with  thought  of  him  Mary  was  insep- 
arably linked.  These  he  could  not  doubt.  It  was  a  proof 
of  the  complete  separation  which  at  this  time  existed  between 
him  and  the  actual  world, — the  world  of  duties, — that  while 
Mary  was  thus  associated  with  the  objects  of  his  almost  un- 
divided interest,  and  his  thoughts  were  daily  and  hourly 


248  CHAKMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

borne  back  to  her,  he  never  wrote  to  her,  and  scarcely  con- 
templated meeting  her  again  as  a  probability. 

His  interest  in  objects  of  art  led  Everard  Irving  to  Italy. 
He  had  at  first  avoided  it  as  the  great  centre  of  attraction  to 
others  ;  but  he  now  knew  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  live 
surrounded  by  his  fellow-creatures,  without  entering  into  theii 
circle  of  feeling  or  action.  Well  was  it  for  Everard  Irving 
that  he  was  roused  from  the  selfish  egotism  which  such  a 
possibility  betokened  !  Well  would  it  have  been  for  him, 
though  the  blow  which  dispelled  his  slumbers  had  crushed 
into  irretrievable  ruin  his  earthly  fortunes  !  He  was  now  in 
Rome,  surrounded  by  the  monuments  of  man's  greatness 
and  his  littleness, — by  the  columns  and  arches  which  com- 
memorated his  energy,  his  power,  in  the  attainment  of  ignoble 
or  unholy  ends,  of  his  own  aggrandizement  or  the  destruction 
of  his  race, — by  the  glorious  beauty  which  his  imagination 
had  conceived  and  his  hand  embodied,  and  before  which  he 
had  prostrated  himself  in  senseless  superstition.  We  will 
not  attempt  to  follow  him  step  by  step  through  the  streets 
of  this  Queen  of  the  Past.  Not  there  was  the  living  spark 
which  was  to  rekindle  his  exhausted  energies.  He  had 
come  a  selfish  dreamer,  and  he  was  preparing  to  depart 
with  no  nobler  purposes  awakened  in  his  soul,  when  he  re- 
ceived letters  from  his  banker  in  Paris  and  his  agent  in 
America.  The  last  completely  changed  all  his  views  of  life 
and  plans  of  action.  His  banker  informed  him  of  his  readi- 
ness to  honor  his  bills  to  the  amount  of  a  thousand  dol- 
lars over  and  above  the  sum  remaining  in  his  hands  for  him, 
in  consideration  of  a  draft  received  from  Everard  on  his 
agent  in  America.  The  letter  of  his  agent  informed  him 
that  five  thousand  dollars  was  all  that  remained  in  his 
hands  subject  to  his  order.  And  from  this  five  thousand 
dollars  the  one  thousand,  for  which  he  had  been  negotia- 
ting with  his  Paris  banker,  was  to  be  deducted — nay,  since 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  249 

that  negotiation  had  been  commenced,  secure  of  his  credit 
with  that  gentleman  and  his  resources  in  America,  he  had 
given  expensive  orders.  These  orders  were  principally  for 
statuary,  which  the  artists  would  have  been  unable  to  exe- 
cute except  on  the  certainty  of  payment  which  an  order 
is  supposed  to  give.  He  could  not  throw  back  their  work 
on  the  hands  of  these  men,  though  it  should  take  every  dollar 
he  owned  to  pay  them.  Such  a  course  would  be  ruinous  to 
them  and  dishonorable  to  him.  Everard  scarcely  breathed  till 
he  had  calculated  the  amount  of  his  orders,  of  his  expenses 
home,  and  of  the  transportation  of  his  treasures.  These 
last,  when  they  reached  America,  would  have  cost  him  nearly 
ten  thousand  dollars,  and  would  scarcely  be  of  any  value  to 
him  there  as  property.  But  he  paused  not  to  think  of  this. 
The  one  great  point  was  ascertained — he  could  pay  for 
them,  he  could  transport  them  and  himself  home,  and  with 
good  fortune  and  economy  he  might  even  have  a  few  hun- 
dred dollars  left  when  he  arrived  there.  This  conviction 
attained,  he  rose  from  his  calculation  with  a  more  buoyant 
spirit  than  he  had  felt  for  months.  His  future  course  was 
plain, — to  return  home  by  the  most  rapid  route,  and  to 
plunge  at  once  into  the  business  of  life — TO  WORK.  He  too 
was  a  son  of  Adam,  and  on  him  had  the  sentence  been  pro- 
nounced, "  By  the  sweat  of  thy  brow  shalt  thou  win  thy 
bread." 

And  already  Everard  Irving  manifested,  if  he  did  not 
feel,  that  this  sentence,  like  every  other  utterance  of  the 
Creator,  was  the  dictate  of  love.  His  letters  had  found 
him  in  his  room,  inert,  languid,  undecided, — after  an  hour's 
deliberation  over  their  contents,  he  went  forth  active,  ener- 
getic, determined.  We  introduced  him  first  to  our  readers 
an  impulsive  boy,  surrendering  himself  wholly  to  the  gui- 
dance of  his  affections ;  disappointed  in  these,  he  had  lost 
all  object,  all  aim  in  life,  and  become  a  useless  dreamer,  no 


250         CHARMS  ANC  COUNTER-Ct  ARMS. 

longer  striving  with  the  current  of  existence,  but  floating 
idly  along  its  surface.  Now  a  storm  kid  arisen,  the  waves 
threatened  to  engulf  him,  and  instinctively  he  put  forth  all 
his  awakened  energies.  As  yet  he  had  no  higher  motive 
than  his  own  preservation ;  but  was  he  not  a  nobler  being 
while  exerting  all  his  powers  even  for  such  an  object,  than 
while  those  powers  remained  sleeping — seemingly  dead — 
within  him  ?  Nobler — ay,  and  happier,  as  he  and  all  will 
find  who  try  the  experiment.  The  worker  fulfils  partially 
the~  law  impressed  upon  his  being  by  Infinite  Wisdom  and 
Love,  and  in  so  far  be  is  happier  than  the  idler, — the  worker 
for  noble  ends  fulfils  the  whole  law,  and  he  knows  something 
even  here  of  the  joy  of  Heaven. 

Everard  Irving's  decisions  and  movements  were  now 
alike  rapid.  In  a  few  days  his  arrangements  in  Rome  were 
completed,  and  he  was  once  more  en  route  for  Paris  and 
America.  Steam-packets  and  railroads  had  not  yet  an- 
nihilated any  part  of  time  and  space,  and  the  letter  whose 
communications  were  so  important  to  him,  though  it  had 
left  New  York  in  November,  had  not  reached  him  in  Rome 
until  the  middle  of  February,  having  had  a  long  voyage  to 
Havre,  and  met  with  various  detentions  on  its  route  from 
that  place  to  Paris,  and  thence  to  Rome.  In  a  week  after 
its  reception,  Everard  was  on  the  road,  yet  it  was  nearly 
the  middle  of  March  when  he  arrived  in  Paris.  A  few 
days  sufficed  to  arrange  his  business  there,  and  again  he  re- 
sumed his  journey.  As  he  passed  through  the  streets  of 
Paris  to  the  office  from  which  he  was  to  take  the  Diligence 
for  Havre,  the  wheel  of  his  coach  became  suddenly  en- 
tangled in  that  of  another  going  in  an  opposite  direction. 
The  enraged  coachmen  stormed  and  blustered  and  gesticu- 
lated at  each  other,  without  either  of  them  seeming  to 
think  of  the  simple  "jut  necessary  step  of  backing  his  horses. 
Everard  would  have  ordered  his  coachman  to  do  this,  but 


CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  251 

the  windows  of  his  coach  were  drawn  up,  and  proved  ira- 
moveable.  While  he  was  vainly  exerting  his  strength  upon 
them,  the  window  nearest  him  in  the  other  coach  was  sud- 
denly dashed  down,  and  a  quick,  determined  voice  cried, 
"En  arriere; — «n  arriere.  Ne  voyez-vous  pas  qu'il  faut  que 
vous  fassiez  reculer  vos  chevaux." 

The  order  was  obeyed,  and  the  liberated  carriages  moved 
on  their  separate  paths,  but  not  before  Everard  had,  to  his 
surprise,  recognised  in  the  speaker,  Euston  Hastings,  and  in 
the  lady  at  his  side,  not  Evelyn,  as  he  had  anticipated,  but 
Mrs.  Mabury.  Before  he  had  recovered  from  the  first  sur- 
prise which  this  apparition  occasioned,  the  carriage  and  its 
occupants  were  out  of  sight,  nor  could  his  coachman  tell  in 
what  direction  it  had  disappeared. 

"  Where  is  Evelyn  ?  Can  she  be  dead  ?"  were  thoughts 
that  flashed  for  an  instant  across  his  mind.  Had  they 
rested  there,  they  would  have  restored  to  her  all  her  power 
over  his  soul,  for  Evelyn  in  Heaven,  Evelyn  free  from 
earthly  imperfections  and  earthly  ties,  would  have  been  his 
again; — but  .he  discarded  the  disturbing  imagination  in 
a  moment,  with  a  smile  at  what  he  felt  to  be  his  own 
folly. 

"  Evelyn  is  doubtless  in  Paris  too,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  would  rather  not  meet  them  on 
nay  first  arrival.  Before  they  return,  I  shall  have  taken  my 
position  in  society  as  one  of  the  working-class.  Until  I 
have  conquered  fortune,  there  will  be  little  danger  of  my 
encountering  them — their  sphere  will  be  far  above  me — 
above,  that  will  admit  a  doubt." 

The  word  was  a  text  for  many  thoughts,  in  which  a  self- 
reliance,  noble,  because  true  and  not  unassociated  with  con- 
scious dependence  upon  the  great  source  of  strength,  gave 
assurance  of  future  success. 

Everard  Irving's  voyage  homeward  was  long  and  stormy. 


252         CHARMS  AND  CCUNTER  CHARMS. 

The  chilly  showers  which  often  usher  in  the  poets'  chosen 
month  of  May  in  this  climate,  were  his  welcome  home.  Not 
those 

"  Spring  showers  which  only  make, 
The  smiles  that  follow  ghine  more  brightly." 

It  was  all  dark,  dank,  comfortless,- — mud  below,  and  one 
unbroken,  leaden  fog  above,  and  on  every  side.  Yet  the 
usual  bustle,  or  even  more  than  the  usual  bustle,  pre- 
vailed on  the  dock  at  which  the  passengers  from  the 
good  ship  Henri  Quatre  were  landed  ;  for  at  the  same 
time,  a  steamboat  lay  beside  it,  receiving  the  passengers 
for  the  Duchesse  D'Orleans,  which  was  that  day  to  sail 
for  Havre.  Everard  had  to  pass  over  the  deck  of  this 
steamboat  to  make  his  way  to  the  shore.  As.  he  stepped 
from  the  plank,  a  lady  stood  ready  to  cross  it.  She  was 
wrapped  in  a  furred  cloak,  and  wore  a  bonnet  drawn 
closely  over  her  face,  and  a  veil  of  such  a  material  as 
would  have  concealed  her  features  even  in  a  brighter  light 
than  that  in  which  she  then  stood.  Everard  had  observed 
her  thus  closely  while  detained  for  a  moment  by  the  crowd, 
because  the  face  of  the  servant  who  attended  her  was 
familiar  to  him.  He  even  fancied  that  he  had  heard  the 
name  "  Dixon" — by  which  she  called  on  him  to  remove 
some  obstruction  from  her  path,  applied  to  that  face  before, 
though  where  or  when  he  could  not  recall.  The  lady's 
voice  too,  touched  a  chord  in  his  heart,  whose  vibrations 
had  caused  the  most  pleasurable  and  the  most  painful  emo- 
tions of  his  life.  But  this  only  elicited  from  him  the  im- 
patient thought,  "  Have  I  come  home  only  to  be  haunted 
by  memories  of  Evelyn.  I  hoped  the  knowledge  that  she 
was  abroad,  would  lay  those  memories  to  rest." 

Who  doubts  animal  magnetism  ?  L,3t  him  who  does, 
recall  the  thrill  that  ran  through  his  frame  at  receiving 
the  cordial  grasp  with  which  a  friend  welcomed  him  back, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  253 

after  long  wanderings,  to  his  native  land.  Everard  felt  that 
thrill,  as  Mr.  Manelli  stepped  from  the  crowd  to  greet  him. 
It  seemed  for  the  moment  another  fantasy  of  his  own  exci- 
ted imagination  ;  but  no — there  was  the  earnest,  thoughtful, 
yet  childlike  face, — childlike  in  its  simple  truth, — the  bowed 
figure, — and  there  the  warm  smiling  welcome,  the  cordial 
grasp, — again  Everard  sought  and  found  it,  as  he  exclaimed, 
"  Am  I  awake,  or  in  a  dream  ?  What  could  have  brought 
you  here  ?" 

"  To  look  for  you,  mio  amico." 

"  But  to  New  York,  I  mean." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  a  long  story — you  must  come  home  with 
me,  and  then  I  will  tell  you.  Come — here  is  a  carriage." 

"  My  kind  friend  !  kind  as  ever,  I  see.  But  I  must  go  to 
a  hotel  first,  and  make  a  land-toilette." 

"  You  shall  come  and  make  that  in  your  own  room,"  said 
the  smiling  old  man,  pleased  to  mystify  his  young  com- 
panion. 

"  My  own  room  !     You  talk  in  riddles  !" 

"  Never  mind  how  I  talk — you  come  with  me ;  if  you  do 
not  like  your  room  you  can  leave  it,  and  no  harm  will 
be  done." 

Everard  could  not  resist  the  kindly  face,  the  warm  heart, 
the  guiding  arm ;  he  ascended  the  carriage,  and,  without 
interfering,  saw  the  porter  with  his  baggage  ordered  to  fol- 
low them 

"  How  did  you  hear  of  my  arrival  ?"  asked  Everard,  as 
Mr.  Manelli  seated  himself  beside  him. 

"  Miss  Raymond  told  us  that  we  must  be  on  the  look-out 
for  you,  as  Mr.  Beresford  thought  you  would  be  here  about 
this  time,  and  we  had  the  list  of  passengers  on  board  your 
ship  brought  up  by  a  pilot-boat  some  hours  ago." 

The  carriage  entered  Greenwich-street,  and  not  far  from 
the  Battery  stopped  before  a  large  and  handsome,  though 
22 


254  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

old-fashioned  house.  Before  the  bell  could  be  rung,  the 
door  was  opened,  and  the  friendly  face  of  Aspasie  Manelli 
appeared  at  it.  Blessed  power  of  association  !  In  a  moment 
Everard  was  at  home.  The  joys  and  sorrows,  the  hopes 
and  disappointments  of  the  last  two  years,  were  swept  away 
for  a  time  by  the  full  tide  of  his  boyhood's  quiet,  but  not 
less  deep  affections,  for  it  was  in  the  birthplace  of  those 
affections  that  he  had  known  the  friends  who  now  smiled 
upon  him. 

"  Follow  me,  and  I  will  show  you  your  room,"  said  As- 
pasie, as  soon  as  their  first  greetings  were  over. 

They  ascended  to  the  next  story,  but  she  did  not  permit 
him  to  pause  there. 

"  Single  gentlemen,  like  you  and  my  father,"  she  said, 
playfully,  "  must  be  contented  with  a  third-story  room." 

She  led  the  way  to  one  which  was  large,  airy,  and  hand- 
some, overlooking  the  street.  As  Everard  entered,  he  was 
for  a  moment  startled  to  find  himself  surrounded  by  objects 
familiar  to  him  from  his  boyhood.  There  were  the  curtains 
which  had  draperied  the  windows  of  his  room  at  Mr.  Ray- 
mond's, the  bureau,  the  wardrobe,  the  very  bedstead,  and, 
remembered  above  all,  the  old-fashioned  yet  convenient  wri- 
ting-desk, at  which  his  earliest  efforts  at  epistolary  produc- 
tions had  been  made. 

"  Why,  Aspasie !"  he  exclaimed,  after  a  moment's  sur- 
vey of  these  objects,  "  what  good  fairy  do  you  em- 
ploy?" 

"  You  might  suspect  my  father  of  dealing  with  such 
spiritual  beings,  but  for  me  the  world  holds  nothing  more  spir- 
itual than  a  good  friend — such  a  good  friend  as  Miss  Ray- 
mond, who  planned  cur  establishment  here,  and  has  almost 
furnished  it  for  us.  She  pointed  out  your  furniture,  and 
directed  its  arrangement  as  you  see  it." 

"  Dear  Mary  !  she  is  worth  a  hundred  fairies — but,  Aspa- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  255 

sie",  I  fear  this  room  will  be  beyond  my  means — I  am  a  poor 
man  now,  you  know." 

Everard  spoke  cheerfully — even  gayly ;  but  Aspasie 
could  not  smile,  and  Mr.  Manelli  turned  away  with  moist 
eyes. 

"  You  have  a  good  profession,  Mr.  Irving,"  said  Aspasie, 
"  and  at  present  you  can  have  this  room  on  your  own  terms 
— it  is  unoccupied  as  you  see — " 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  the  warm-hearted  artist ;  "  it  is  un- 
occupied— so  why  say  any  thing  more  about  it.  Come  to 
it,  and  as  to  any  thing  more,  why  we  will  talk  about  that 
by-and-by." 

"  Thank  you,  my  kind  friend — but  that  will  not  do — I 
must  be  independent  while  I  can.  I  have  still  something 
left,  Aspasie,  but  till  I  have  made  that  something  more,  I 
must  be  satisfied  with  a  very  humble  home — such  a  one  as 
I  may  hope  to  have  for  four  or  five  dollars  a  week." 

"  If  you  give  me  four  dollars  a  week,  I  shall  be  amply 
paid  for  this  room  at  the  present  season — especially  since 
you  furnish  it  yourself." 

"That  is  settled,  then,"  said  Mr.  Manelli,  anxious  to  ter- 
minate a  subject  which  was  painful  to  him  ;  "  so  come  and 
see  my  studio." 

He  opened  a  door  which  gave  entrance  through  a  closet 
into  a  back-room,  of  the  same  dimensions  with  that  ap- 
propriated to  Everard.  Here  stood  one  or  two  fine  casts 
from  antique  statues,  the  walls  were  hung  with  pictures, 
and  several  unframed  pictures  stood  on  the  floor  leaning 
against  them.  Without  pausing  to  direct  Everard's  atten- 
tion to  these,  Mr.  Manelli  passed  through  them  to  a  window, 
and  throwing  open  the  Venetian  shutters,  he  called  on  Ev- 
erard to  look  out.  That  window  commanded  a  gloiious 
view,  Everard  looked  over  the  Battery,  whose  fine  old  trees 
spring  had  again  decked  with  its  'earliest  green,  to  the 


256  2HARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

waters  of  the  harbor  and  :ay,  to  Governor's  Island,  the 
quiet  beauty  of  its  verdant  slopes  contrasting  so  strangely 
with  its  grim  fort,  and  to  the  smiling  shore  of  New  Jersey. 

"  Beautiful !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  A  glorious  view,"  said  the  artist,  "  it  ought  to  bring 
glorious  conceptions." 

"  Is  this  one  of  its  fruits  ?"  asked  Everard,  as  he  pointed 
to  the  easel  on  which  was  stretched  a  painting  of  large 
size. 

"  See  !"  said  Mr.  Manelli,  as  he  withdrew  the  cover  that 
concealed  it. 

"  Mary  !"  burst  from  Everard's  lips,  and  then  he  gazed 
long  in  silence  upon  that  lovely  picture  for  which  Mary  had 
sat  from  a  desire  to  advance  the  interests  of  the  artist. 
There  were  ,the  thoughtful  yet  serene  eyes,  the  regal 
brow,  the  mouth  so  lovely  in  its  soft  repose,  the  delicately 
fair,  yet  now  healthful  complexion,  the  symmetrical  pro- 
portions of  the  rounded  form,  and  yet  more — a  higher 
beauty  still.  The  "  Spirit  still  and  bright,"  which  shed 
"  something  of  an  angel  light"  over  these  mortal  features, 
seemed  to  have  breathed  life — its  own  peaceful  life,  into 
the  canvass. 

"You  have  idealized  here  indeed,"  said  Everard,  at 
length. 

"  Idealize — what  is  idealize  ?"  asked  Mr.  Manelli. 

"You  have  impressed  on  Mary's  features  your  own  beau- 
tiful conception  of  an  angel." 

"  That  is,  you  mean,  I  have  flattered  her :  no — 'tis  not 
so — I  have  made  her  a?  she  is." 

"  Then  she  is  more  beautiful  than  ever  living,  breathing 
woman  was  before." 

Everard  spoke  with  an  ardor  which  made  Mr.  Manelli 
smile  as  he  said,  "  You  will  fall  in  love  with  my  picture,  if 
I  do  not  cover  it,  and  that  will  not  be  well,  though  I  have 


CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  257 

always  had  wonder  that  you  did  not  fall  in  love  with  Mary 
herself." 

He  covered  the  painting  as  he  spoke,  and  Everard  turned 
away  with  a  forced  laugh  and  a  heightened  color. 

"  Fall  in  love  with  Mary  !"  what  a  strange  thought ! — so 
strange  that  again  and  again  it  recurred  to  him,  and  he 
found  himself  more  than  once  that  day  living  over  as  in  a 
dream,  the  last  few  years  of  his  life,  as  they  might  have 
been  if  he  had  sought  and  won,  as  that  life's  companion,  a 
being  such  as  that  picture  represented. 

From  such  dreams  he  was  aroused  by  the  most  startling 
intelligence. 

22* 


258  CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  There,  where  I  have  garnered  up  my  heart* 
Where  either  I  must  live  or  bear  no  lif«. 
The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs, 
Or  else  dries  up  ;  to  be  discarded  theur« !" 

SHAKSPEARE 

WE  left  Evelyn  rejoicing  in  her  newly-attained  convic- 
tion, that  she  had  acquired  an  infallible  method  of  touch- 
ing her  husband's  feelings,  and  opening  his  heart  to  her, — 
but  the  light  of  her  spirit  was  not  long  unshadowed.  She 
could  be  satisfied  with  nothing  less  than  that  entire  devo- 
tion which  had  marked  his  manner  to  her  during  the  first 
few  weeks  of  their  married  life,  or  immediately  after  the 
fiery  trial  of  her  faith  at  Saratoga,  and  reconciliation  had 
not  restored  to  her  this.  Day  after  day  her  injudicious 
efforts  to  chain  him  to  her  side — her  passionate  remon- 
strances— her  tearful  appeals,  drove  him  farther  from  her. 
She  did  not  now  attempt  to  wear  the  aspect  of  gay  indif- 
ference which  she  had  found  so  ineffectual ;  but  with  all 
the  inconsistency  of  passion,  she  rather  exaggerated  his 
sovereign  influence  over  her  life.  Hourly  she  found  some 
new  mode  of  making  him  feel  her  entire  dependence  on 
him  for  every  enjoyment.  S"  e  would  accept  no  invitation 
until  she  had  obtained  his  promise  to  accompany  her,  nor 
suffer  him  to  partake  of  any  social  enjoyment  in  which  she 
was  not  included,  without  evident  regret.  Mary,  who  was 
now  much  with  Evelyn,  saw  the  impatience  with  which 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  259 

Euston  Hastings  bore  such  painful  restraints  upon  his 
hitherto  unlimited  freedom  of  action,  and  she  remonstrated 
with  Evelyn — cautiously  and  tenderly. 

"  Surely,  Mary,  you  would  not  have  me  a  heartless 
pleasure-seeker,  caring  nothing  for  my  husband's  society." 

"  Certainly  not,  Evelyn — but  I  would  have  you  capable 
of  finding  pleasure  in  other  sources  too." 

"  I  do  not  desire  other  pleasures,  that  is  enough  for  me." 

"  But,  Evelyn,  would  not  a  generous  affection  lead  a 
woman  to  defer  this  highest  pleasure  to  her  husband's  in- 
clinations ;  and  to  do  this  gracefully  and  effectually,  must 
she  not  cultivate  those  tastes  which  would  enable  her  to 
find  enjoyment  in  even  a  solitary  home  ?  Solitary  it  is  true, 
it  could  not  long  remain,  if  tenanted  by  so  attractive  a 
spirit." 

Evelyn  made  no  reply,  but  from  that  time  she  was  more 
cautious  in  revealing  to  Mary  the  history  of  her  disap- 
pointed hopes  and  vain  efforts.  It  would  be  tedious  to 
recount  all  these.  One  scene  will  suffice  to  show  how  pas- 
sionately she  struggled  for  the  heart  in  whose  love  her 
very  life  lay  hoarded,  and  with  what  cold  impassiveness  her 
struggles  were  met. 

The  elder  Kean  was  in  New  York.  All  were  crowding 
to  see  him,  and  Euston  Hastings  had  accompanied  a  party 
for  this  purpose,  of  which  Evelyn  knew  that  Mrs.  Mabury 
made  one.  She  was  at  home  and  alone.  Even  the  ser- 
vants had  retired  at  her  command.  Dixon  had  made  some 
objection  to  this,  but  Evelyn  had  overruled  it,  saying,  that 
as  she  should  sit  up  for  Mr.  Hastings,  it  would  not  be 
necessary  for  any  other  to  do  so.  She  had  thus  secured  a 
private  interview  with  her  husband,  and  the  power  of 
demonstrating  to  him  most  conclusively,  the  lonely  suffer- 
ing to  which  his  absence  condemned  her.  A  supper  after 
*fce  play  detained  him,  and  he  did  not  return  home  till  one 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


o'clock.  And  through  the  long,  silent  hours  of  night, 
Evelyn  cowered  over  a  fire,  which  she  was  too  mucli  ab- 
sorbed to  think  of  replenishing,  wrapped  in  a  dressing- 
gown,  and  with  -  slippered  feet.  No  book  beguiled  the 
weary  time — no  employment  made  it  less  tedious  ;  but 
there  she  sat — passionate  longings,  sad  memories,  and  sad- 
der anticipations  making  the  whole  sum  of  her  being, — 
jealousy  eating  into  her  heart,  and  an  indignant  sense  of 
wrong  embittering  every  thought.  There  was  no  Kent 
gilding  the  edges  of  the  dark  cloud  that  overshadows! 
her — no  Heavenly  love  softening  and  sanctifying  earthly 
sorrow — no  Heavenly  hope  elevating  her  above  it.  It  wan 
one  o'clock,  when  her  .intently  listening  ear  caught  th« 
sound  of  coming  steps.  She  thought  they  were  his — but 
so  she  had  thought  a  hundred  times  that  night.  Now, 
however,  she  was  not  mistaken.  He  ascended  the  steps, 
she  heard  his  night-key  enter  the  door,  but  she  knew  it 
was  in  vain,  for  she  had  herself  secured  it  with  a  bolt. 
She  rose  quickly,  hastened  to  it,  and  unbolted  it  with  eager 
hands ;  yet  the  light  she  held  showed  no  pleasure  in  her 
face.  Her  eyes  were  swoollen  with  weeping,  and  her  coun- 
tenance wore  an  aspect  of  the  deepest  dejection. 

"  Why  are  you  up  at  this  hour,  Evelyn  ?"  asked  Euston 
Hastings,  as  he  closed  the  door  and  advanced  into  the 
parlor. 

"  It  was  necessary  that  some  one  should  be  here  to  op*>u 
the  door,"  she  replied. 

"  Then  where  was  Dixon  ?" 

"I  could  not  sleep  till  you  returned,  and  thinking  it 
was  enough  for  one  to  be  disturbed,  I  made  him  go  to 
bed." 

"  I  know  not  why  you  need  have  been  disturbed,  Eve- 
lyn. As  to  Dixon,  I  pay  him  for  obeying  my  orders, 
and  if  he  find  them  too  onerous,  he  has  only  to  leave  the 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  261 

place.  I  have  no  fear  that  I  shall  find  any  difficulty  in  ob- 
taining one  to  fill  it,  who  will  value  money  more  and  sleep 
less." 

"Do  not  be  angry  with  Dixon.  The  fault  has  been 
mine.  I  could  not  rest  till  you  came,  and  I  preferred  to  sit 
up  alone." 

The  last  words  were  almost  inarticulate,  for  Evelyn's 
ready  tears  had  come  as  she  said,  "  I  could  not  rest  until 
you  came."  With  a  gesture  of  impatience,  Euston  Has- 
tings turned  from  her,  and  snatching  one  of  the  candles 
burning  on  the  table,  would  have  hastened  from  the  room, 
but  Evelyn  approached  him,  exclaiming,  "  Do  not  leave  me 
thus !  Through  the  long,  cold,  lonely  hours  of  night, 
while  others  slept,  I  have  watched  and  waited  for  you, 
and  are  these  cold  Words  and  colder  looks  to  be  my  only 
reward  ?" 

"  Reward  for  what,  Evelyn  ?  Your  watching  was  for  no 
purpose  of  kindness  to  me." 

"  Do  not  speak  so  coldly.  Have  mercy  on  me  !  my  heart 
is  breaking." 

"  Really,  Evelyn,  I  know  not  how  to  comfort  sorrows 
which  I  do  not  understand." 

"  Love  me !  only  love  me !" 

"  You  are  making  that  a  very  difficult  task,  Evelyn ;  and 
I  give  you  warning,  that  if  you  persist  in  your  present 
course,  it  will  soon  become  to  me  an  impossible  one." 

A  faint  cry  broke  from  Evelyn's  lips — she  threw  her  arms 
wildly  up,  and  fell  forward  on  the  arm  which  Euston  Has- 
tings had  extended  in  time  to  break,  though  too  late  to 
prevent  her  fall.  He  raised  her  up,  and,  looking  into  her 
face,  found  that  she  had  fainted.  Even  then  there  was  an 
expression  rather  of  annoyance  than  of  sorrow  in  his  coun- 
tenance. Laying  her  on  a  sofa,  he  advanced  to  the  bell, 
but  having  only  touched  the  wire,  withdrew  his  hand  with- 


262  CHARMS  AWI)  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

out  ringing,  and  returning  to  the  sofa,  lifted  Evelyn's  light 
form  in  his  arms.  She  had  recovered  partially,  and  said  in 
a  feeble  tone,  "  I  can  walk." 

"  Hush,  Evelyn  !"  he  replied,  "  you  are  weary,  and  had 
better  be  still" 

Quietly  she  rested  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  suf- 
fered him  to  bear  her  up  stairs,  and  to  her  room,  where, 
still  enforcing  silence,  he  withdrew  her  wrappings  and  laid 
Jier  on  her  bed  before  he  went  to  his  dressing-room.  Worn 
out  by  watching  and  agitation,  Evelyn  slept  before  he  re- 
turned, yet  ere  she  did  so,  she  sighed  at  the  remembrance 
that  he  had  left  her  without  one  caress,  or  even  one  look 
of  tenderness  to  soften  the  harshness  of  those  terrible 
words. 

The  next  morning  Evelyn  found  it  impossible  to  recur  to 
the  last  night's  scene.  Euston  Hastings  was  absorbed, 
silent,  stern ;  and,  exhausted  by  her  late  passionate  excite- 
ment, she  had  not  courage  to  break  through  the  barrier 
within  which  he  had  intrenched  himself.  While  they  were 
at  breakfast,  a  note  was  handed  to  Evelyn.  It  was  from 
Mrs.  Mabury,  and  ran  thus  : 

"  Are  you  doing  penance  for  your  past  coquetries,  dear 
Evelyn,  or  are  you  endeavoring  to  pique  the  world  into  a  new 
fervor  of  admiration  by  your  present  seclusion  ?  In  either 
case,  it  seems  to  me  it  has  endured  sufficiently  long.  Be- 
sides, really,  Eva,  regard  for  your  husband's  reputation  re- 
quires that  you  should  show  yourself  in  the  world,  which  at 
present  suspects  him  of  being  something  between  a  Don 
(jiovanni  and  a  Blue-Beard.  I  am  to  have  a  few  choice 
spirits  with  me  at  dinner  to-day.  Mr.  Hastings  has  prom- 
ised t)  join  us.  May  I  hope  that  you  will  accompany  him? 
Perhaps  you  will  go  with  us  to  Mrs.  Brereton's  fancy-ball, 
If  you  would  like  it,  I  will  procure  a  card  for  you ;  and 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  263 

your  maid  can,  I  dare  say,  get  up  some  of  your  old 
tableau  costumes  for  the  occasion.  Let  me  hear  from 
you  by  the  bearer. 

"  Yours, 

"  ESTELLE. 

Evelyn  read  this  note  with  no  agreeable  impressions. 
There  seemed  to  her  a  patronising  tone  in  it  which,  with  her 
present  feelings  to  Mrs.  Mabury,  was  peculiarly  distasteful, 
It  made  the  thought  of  accepting  her  invitation  disagree- 
able ;  yet  her  husband  would  be  there,  and  if  he  really  was 
thus  talked  of, — if  he  thought  she  ought  to  go, — he  should 
decide  for  her,  and  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  she 
handed  him  the  open  note,  saying,  "  I  wish  you  would  read 
that,  and  tell  me  how  to  reply  to  it." 

He  received  the  note,  glanced  hastily  over  it,  and  return- 
ing it  to  her,  said,  "  I  do  not  know  how  any  one  can  direct 
your  answer  to  that  which  concerns  your  inclination  so  en- 
tirely." 

"  There  is  a  part  of  it  which  relates  to  you,"  said  Evdyn, 
"  and  however  little  I  may  be  disposed  for  such  gay  doings, 
if  you  wish — " 

"  I  wish  nothing  on  the  subject,  Evelyn,  but  that  you 
should  please  yourself." 

"  But,  if  you  think  that  my  seclusion  causes  you  to  be 
misunderstood." 

"  Of  course  that  is  mere  badinage  in  Mrs.  Mabury,"  re- 
plied Euston  Hastings,  with  a  smile.  "  Besides,  you  do  not 
suppose  that  I  have  the  least  respect  for  the  que  dira-t-on? 
I  never  expect  the  world  to  understand  me,  or  care  that  it 
should — so  pray,  do  not  trouble  yourself  to  go  for  any  such 
reason  as  this." 

"  Then,  as  you  do  not  wish  me  to  accept  the  invitation,  I 
will  decline  it,"  said  Evelyn,  evidently  piqued  by  his  indiffer- 
ence. 


264  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  Do  just  as  you  please,  Evelyn.  I  have,  as  I  just  now 
told  you,  no  wish  on  the  subject ;  but  allow  me  to  ask  that, 
if  you  do  stay  at  home,  it  may  be  to  sleep,  and  not  to  watch 
for  me.  The  restraint  which  such  a  practice  imposes  on 
me  would  be  intolerable.  I  have  told  Dixon  this  morning, 
that  if  he  retire  to  bed  again  before  I  return  home,  he  will 
do  it  at  the  expense  of  his  place.  You  will  not,  therefore, 
save  him  by  this  unreasonable  sacrifice  of  yourself." 

"I  had  no  design  to  save  Dixon,"  said  Evelyn,  indig- 
nantly; "I  could  not  sleep  while  momently  expecting 
you." 

"  To  prevent  this  evil,  I  should  be  glad  to  have  anothei 
room  prepared  for  me,  which  I  may  occupy  whenever  I  re- 
turn home  long  after  you  have  retired.  It  would  be  well  to 
have  it  ready  for  me  to-night,  if  you  decide  to  remain  at 
home,  as  Mrs.  Brereton's  invitations  are  for  a  late  hour." 

This  conversation  had  occurred  during  the  absence  of  the 
servant,  whom  Evelyn  had  found  some  pretext  for  sending 
away.  He  now  returned  to  say  that  Mrs.  Mabury's  man  was 
waiting  for  an  answer.  With  a  trembling  hand  Evelyn  wrote 
a  few  hurried  lines,  declining  Mrs.  Mabury's  invitation  on  the 
plea  of  indisposition,  which  her  now  throbbing  head  made  no 
fiction.  Euston  Hastings  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity, 
while  she  wrote,  to  withdraw  from  the  room,  and  thus  avoid 
the  scene  which  he  anticipated  as  the  result  of  his  last 
words. 

Hours  after,  Mary  found  Evelyn  weeping  in  her  chamber. 
She  had  declined  seeing  even  her  father  and  herself,  but 
they  would  not  be  turned  away.  If  she  were  sick,  they  felt 
there  was  the  more  necessity  for  their  presence.  She  re- 
ceived them  in  her  darkened  room,  yet  both  saw  what  it  was 
as  impossible  for  her  to  conceal  as  to  control,  that  she  was 
in  tears.  Mary  now  proved  an  invaluable  friend,  both  to 
father  and  daughter.  She  comforted  the  first  by  the  assu- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  265 

ranee  that  Evelyn  was  not  so  ill  as  to  make  her  husband's 
immediate  presence  and  the  attendance  of  a  physician  ne- 
cessary. 

"  Evelyn  is  suffering  from  a  nervous  headache,  a  very 
common  complaint  with  ladies  who  keep  the  irregular  hours 
of  fashionable  life.  Leave  her  to  me,  and  I  do  not  doubt 
you  will  find  her  much  better  in  a  few  hours." 

Such  was  her  language  to  Mr.  Beresford,  and  though  he 
sighed  at  the  conviction  that  his  sad  anticipations  were  all 
fulfilled,  and  marriage  had  been  as  disastrous  to  the  happi- 
ness of  his  second  Evelyn  as  of  his  first,  his  worst  appre- 
hensions were  allayed,  and  folding  his  daughter  in  his  arms, 
and  bidding  her,  with  more  than  one  kiss,  "  Be  well  and 
happy  for  his  sake,"  he  complied  with  Mary's  wish,  and  left 
them  together. 

With  Evelyn  Mary's  task  was  more  difficult.  To  listen 
to  vehement  reproaches  of  her  husband  at  one  moment, — 
to  as  vehement  self-condemnation  at  another, — to  soothe 
griefs  whose  selfishness  she  could  scarcely  lorbear  to  re- 
prove,— to  be  asked  for  advice  which  would,  she  knew,  be 
received  with  impatience — such  was  the  history  of  this 
wearisome  day.  Evelyn  found  a  shield  against  all  she 
said  that  might  have  brought  conviction  of  her  error,  in 
the  oft-repeated  "  Ah,  Mary !  you  have  never  loved  like 
me." 

Deeply  moved  by  the  sufferings  she  saw,  and  yet  more  by 
the  sorrows  she  anticipated  for  Evelyn,  Mary's  pity  at  length 
so  fai  overcame  the  pride  and  delicacy  which  made  any  ref- 
erence to  herself  exquisitely  painful  to  her,  that,  laying  her 
hand  on  the  head  of  the  weeping  Evelyn,  she  said,  with  in- 
imitable grace  and  tenderness,  "Evelyn,  would  my  sym- 
pathy be  more  soothing  to  you,  and  my  opinions  have  more 
influence  if  you  thought  that  I  had  loved  like  you  ?" 

"Your  opinions  would  have  more  influence  certainly, 
23 


266  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Mary,  for  now  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  you  often  give 
me  advice  which  you  would  know  to  be  impracticable  if  you 
had  ever  loved." 

"  Never  think  so  again,  Evejyn,  for  I  ioo  have  loved — 
loved  as  truly — loved  as  selfishly  as  you,  and  loved  without 
return." 

"  Mary !  can  this  be  so  ? — You  who  are  so  happy  !" 

"  Was  I  always  happy,  Evelyn  ?" 

"  No,  Mary ;  but  your  unhappiness  seemed  to  have  a 
sufficient  cause  in  the  death  of  your  father  and  your  ill- 
health." 

"  My  father's  death  was  indeed  a  great  sorrow ;  but 
though  it  took  from  earth  its  greatest  glory,  it  left  enough 
to  enkindle  the  imagination,  and  keep  alive  the  hope  of  one 
to  whom  life  was  still  so  new." 

"  And  you  loved,  then,  Mary,  and  loved  unhappily  ?" 

"  Nay,  Evelyn — I  did  not  say  unhappily  ;  for  that  would 
seem  to  me  to  mean  that  I  had  loved  unworthily.  But  let 
us  say  no  more  on  this  subject,  Evelyn.  To  have  named  it 
at  all,  is  the  strongest  proof  of  my  affection  for  you.  Re- 
member, in  future,  that  my  advice  comes  to  you  warm — 
earnest — from  a  heart  whose  sympathies  have  been  excited 
by  a  like  suffering." 

The  silence  that  followed  was  long  unbroken.  Many 
questions  were  pressing  to  Evelyn's  lips,  but  she  dared  not 
ask  them.  There  was  a  quiet  dignity  about  Mary  which 
not  only  repressed  curiosity,  but  silenced  the  expression  of 
sympathy.  In  knowing  that  her  friend  had  loved  and  suf- 
fered, Evelyn  knew  all  that  was  essential  to  her.  To  her 
present  condition  no  reference  had  been  made,  and  though 
longing  to  learn  whether  the  love,  like  the  suffering,  were 
among  the  things  of  the  past,  Evelyn  was  too  truly  delicate 
to  press  rudely  within  a  veil  which  Mary  had  long  worn  to 
all,  and  which  she  had  now  lifted  for  her  with  such  evident 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  267 

and  painful  effort.  It  was  Mary  who  resumed  the  conver- 
sation— at  first  in  low  and  faltering  tones,  which  grew 
stronger  as  she  proceeded. 

"I  have  learned,  dear  Evelyn,"  she  said,  "to  think  that 
from  the  imperfection  of  love  springs  all  the  wo  connected 
with  it.  It  is  self-love  writhing  in  agony  over  its  disap- 
pointed desires,  pride  covering  its  deadly  wound  from  every 
eye,  which  give  birth  to  that  '  sorrow  of  the  world  that 
worketh  death.'  The  false  maxims  of  a  conventionalism 
which  teaches  that  there  is  degradation  in  an  unreturned 
affection,  however  worthily  placed  or  purely  entertained, 
may  press  us  to  the  earth  with  shame ;  but  when  we  dis- 
card these, — when  our  love  is  unspoken,  not  from  pride,  but 
because-we  would  not  fetter  the  freedom  of  its  object  by  a 
wish, — when  it  is  so  divorced  from  selfishness  that  we  can 
p'ray  for  the  happiness  of  the  one  beloved,  independently  of 
us — then  we  first  learn  its  true  nature — its  life-giving,  joy- 
ous nature." 

"  But,  Mary,  the  love,  the  sorrow  you  have  described  still 
lack  the  bitterest  ingredient  of  mine.  You  cannot  know  the 
misery  of  a  slighted  wife.  I  have  given  him  all,  all — nothing 
was  too  dear — nothing  too  sacred  to  be  laid  at  his  feet,  and 
he  has  trampled  on  all.  Can  you  bid  me  be  careless  of  such 
wo — joyful  under  such  circumstances  ?" 

"  No — no — Evelyn.  I  would  only  pray  you  and  aid  you, 
if  I  might,  more  and  more  to  forget  yourself  and  your  own 
blighted  hopes,  and  to  seek  your  own  enjoyment  in  minister- 
ing to  the  chosen  pleasures,  if  those  pleasures  be  sinless,'  of 
the  object  of  your  affection.  In  such  a  course  of  action, 
Evelyn,  you  cannot  fail  to  meet  your  reward." 

"  How  can  I  influence  his  enjoyments  ?  Has  he  not  with- 
drawn himself  completely  from  me?" 

"  And  why  has  he  withdrawn,  Evelyn  ?  Has  it  not  been 
because  you  did  influence  his  enjoyments,  and  influence 


268  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

them  unfavorably  ?  Promote  them,  and  you  may  win  him 
back  to  you." 

While  Mary  spoke,  Evelyn  was  soothed  by  new  hope,  but 
in  her  absence  her  words  were  powerless,  and  again,  madly 
yielding  to  the  passion  of  the  moment,  she  wearied  her 
husband  by  her  importunities  or  repulsed  him  by  her  cold- 
ness. 

Throughout  this  period  Mrs.  Mabury  had  exercised  to- 
wards Euston  Hastings  the  most  consummate  and  unfailing 
tact.  The  wisdom  which  had  deserted  her  at  Saratoga, 
when  she  perceived  herself  to  be  on  the  losing  side,  was 
again  all  her  own.  Her  house  presented  the  most  varied 
attractions.  Without  seeking  his  confidence,  she  seemed 
intuitively  to  divine  his  feelings,  and  adapted  herself  to  the 
mood  of  the  moment  with  the  perfection  of  art.  Never  had 
she  been  so  eager  in  her  desire  to  attract — to  win.  Her 
pride  had  received  a  wound  even  deeper  than  that  inflicted 
on  her  affections,  in  his  marriage  with  Evelyn,  and  in  his 
renewed  devotion  to  herself  it  found  its  only  balm.  Thus 
far  she  had  proceeded  with  a  total  disregard  of  consequences, 
but  now  the  question,  "  What  would  be  the  end  of  all  this  ?" 
sometimes  obtruded  itself  startlingly  upon  her.  To  forestall 
the  possibility  of  inconstancy  on  his  part,  and  withdraw  from 
him  while  his  devotion  was  at  its  height,  would  have  been  a 
meet  punishment  for  his  past  coldness — a  meet  triumph  to 
her  pride  ;  but  other  passions  were  awake  within  her,  which 
represented  the  triumph  as  too  costly  a  purchase.  Yet 
reason  asked,  How  could  she  trust  to  him — capricious 
as  he  had  proved  himself — inconstant  alike  to  her  and 
Evelyn  ? 

About  this  time  the  lawsuit,  which  had  occasioned  Mrs. 
Mabury 's  return  to  America,  was  decided  in  her  favor. 
With  the  announcement  of  her  success  there  came  to  her  a 
thought  like  a  flashing  light — "I  will  return  to  Europe. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


This  connection  is  becoming  dangerous  to  him  and  to  me. 
I  will  leave  him."  Such  were  the  motives  she  confessed  to 
herself;  but  another,  a  deeper,  and  a  more  powerful  voice 
within  her  repeated  ever,  "  He  will  follow  me.  He  will 
leave  all  and  follow  me,  and  my  pride  and  my  love  will 
alike  triumph." 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  her  success  had 
been  announced,  and  Euston  Hastings  sat  with  Mrs.  Mabui  y 
alone  in  her  boudoir.  They  had  been,  as  they  often  were 
when  thus  alone,  long  silent,  full  of  thoughts  probably  which 
neither  was  yet  prepared  to  communicate  to  the  other.  A 
heavy  sigh  from  Mrs.  Mabury  aroused  her  companion  from 
a  long  revery. 

"  You  sigh,  Estelle !  You  whom  all  are  congratulating !" 
he  said. 

"  Ah.  Euston  !  They  congratulate  me  on  an  accession  of 
wealth  which  I  do  not  need,  and  I  sigh  at  the  thought  of 
.eaving  a  land  to  which  I  came  reluctantly,  and  where  I 
have  known  little  pleasure.  Such  is  life !" 

"  Leaving !     Do  you  think  of  leaving  America  ?" 

"  Could  you  suppose  that  I  would  remain  a  moment 
longer  than  was  demanded  by  my  interests,  where  the 
whole  structure  of  society,  the  whole  style  of  thought 
and  feeling  were  so  opposed  to  all  which  make  life  en- 
durable to  me  ?  I  go  to  solace  myself  for  the  disappoint- 
ments which  actual  life  has*  brought  me  in  the  very  home 
of  the  ideal.  I  go  to  the  very  birthplace  of  beauty — to 
the  blue  seas  and  gorgeous  skies,  and  vine-clad  hills  of 
Italy — to  the  forms  which  Genius  proved  its  Divinity  in 
creating — to  the  sounds  which  '  take  the  prisoned  soul  and 
lap  it  in  Elysium.'  You  look  at  me  with  surprise — you 
knew  not  that  I  turned  with  such  intense  longing  to  that 
land ;  but  how  can  it  be  otherwise,  when  I  hope  to  win 
from  it  life's  last  good — for  me  its  only  one — forgetful- 
23* 


270  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

ness.  I  go  to  lose  my  own  identity  in  the  beauty  and  the 
brightness  around  me." 

"  To  lose  your  own  identity  !  And  where  will  you  rind 
another  self  so  beautiful  and  bright  ?  I  too,  Estelle,  am 
weary  of  my  present  life.  I  too,  long  for  the  repose  which 
I  once  enjoyed  with  you  in  that  delightful  land.  I  will  go 
with  you." 

Mrs.  Mabury  trembled — she  felt  all  which  those  words 
involved,  and  it  was  by  a  mighty  effort  that  she  commanded 
her  voice  to  utter,  with  seeming  composure,  the  words,  "And 
Evelyn  ?" 

"  Speak  not  of  her,  Estelle  !  There  is  no  repose  for  me 
where  she  is.  It  is  from  her  I  would  fly ;  and  why  should 
I  not — in  what  would  she  be  more  miserable  than  she  now 
is  ?  She  weeps  and  complains  now — she  could  but  weep 
and  complain  then,  and  with  the  benefit  of  a  larger  audi- 
ence— the  world  instead  of  me." 

"And  that  world  ! — what  will  be  its  verdict?" 

"  Can  you  think  of  that,  Estelle  ?  Is  the  world  more  to 
you  than  your  friend  ?" 

"  It  was  of  you  I  thought,  not  of  myself."         >:  -» -  ' 

"  And  do  you  not  know,  Estelle,  how  little  I  regard  the 
world  or  its  opinions  ?" 

"  May  not  other  years  bring  other  thoughts  ?" 

"  Never — writh  you  by  my  side,  I  shall  have  no  place  for 
regret." 

"  I  doubt  not  it  seems  so  to  you  now,  but  when  your 
present  feelings  have  passed  away — " 

"  They  never  can  pass  away.  I  never  have  exhausted, 
I  never  can  exhaust  the  variety  of  your  attractions.  The 
tie  which  will  unite  us,  Estelle,  will  be  more  tender  than 
friendship — more  serene  than  love." 

"  That  it  may  be  so,  Euston,  it  must  be  formed  deliber- 
ately— free  from  thj3  impetuosity  of  passion.  Let  me  go 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  271 

abroad,  therefore,  as  I  had  intended,  alone ;  then  weigh 
well  all  which  you  relinquish  in  coming  to  me,  and  decide, 
uninfluenced  by  my  presence.  I  will  await  your  decision 
in  Havre,  ready  to  welcome  you  to  your  life-friend,  or — " 
she  paused,  but  only  for  a  moment ;  "  or  to  pursue  my 
present  plans." 

Well  did  Mrs.  Mabury  understand  the  nature  to  which 
she  addressed  herself;,  this  perfect  freedom  was  the  most 
certain  means  of  securing  a  heart  which  the  lightest  con- 
straint revolted. 

"  Generous  Estelle !"  exclaimed  Euston  Hastings.  "  How 
unlike  the  rest  of  your  exacting  sex  !  It  shall  be  as  you 
will.  But  be  assured  that  I  will  follow  you  in  the  first 
packet  which  sails  after  you  to  Havre  or  London." 

In  less  than  a  month,  Mrs.  Mabury  had  arranged  her 
business  in  New  York,  and  left  the  shores  of  America  for- 
ever— to  the  great  regret  of  Madame  L'Egare,  and  the  at 
least  equal  joy  of  Evelyn.  Mrs.  Mabury  had  avoided  a 
meeting  with  the  latter,  by  calling  on  her  at  a  time  when 
Euston  Hastings  had  informed  her  that  she  would  not  be 
at  home. 

After  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Mabury,  Mary  reminded 
Evelyn  of  her  jealous  apprehensions,  and  drew  from  their 
apparent  falsehood,  an  augury  of  hope  for  the  future. 

And  it  might  have  been  that  Evelyn's  destiny  was  yet 
in  her  own  power — for  as  the  day,  the  very  hour  of  his 
departure  drew  near,  Euston  Hastings  felt  that  all  the 
cords  by  which  she  had  been  bound  to  his  heart,  were  not 
yet  severed.  When  he  bent  above  her  in  her  placid  sleep, 
or  caught,  for  a  passing  moment,  some  gleam  of  the  spirit 
of  joyous  love  which  formerly  lived  in  her  life,  throwing  a 
brief  light  upon  her  face,  he  felt,  that  were  she  ever  thus, 
it  would  be  impossible  to  leave  her. 

But  in  general,  offended  by  the  gravity  of  his  manner, 


272  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

which  she  attributed  to  sadness  for  Mrs.  Mabury's  depart- 
ure— too  passionate  to  soothe — too  self-absorbed  to  excuse 
a  grief  which  she  did  not  share — Evelyn  was  gloomy,  and 
wore  an  indignant  and  repelling  aspect. 

About  a  fortnight  after  Mrs.  Mabury's  departure,  Euston 
Hastings  went  abroad  immediately  after  breakfast,  and  did 
not  return  home  till  after  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
Evelyn,  too,  had  been  out  in  her  carriage  in  the  morning, 
and  had  made  some  calls.  Fatigued  by  the  unusual  exer- 
tion, she  lay  down  upon  the  sofa  in  her  own  boudoir  and 
slept. 

Not  long  had  she  been  thus  unconscious  when  the  door 
opened  noiselessly,  and  Euston  Hastings,  with  his  quiet 
step,  entered.  All  arrangements  were  made  for  his  sailing 
on  the  morrow,  and  he  was  now  in  his  home  in  New  York 
for  the  last  time.  From  a  lingering  tenderness  to  Evelyn, 
the  strength  of  which  surprised  himself,  he  found  it  impos- 
sible to  go,  as  he  had  at  first  intended,  without  seeing  her, 
Jiough  to  what  purpose  the  interview  could  tend,  it  was 
not  easy  to  imagine.  He  entered  as  we  have  said,  and 
stood  beside  her  couch.  Directly  opposite  to  him,  hung  a 
picture  of  Evelyn,  taken  just  before  her  marriage.  It 
represented  her  as  she  was  at  that  happy  season,  in  the  full 
flush  of  joyful  hope.  The  eyes  of  Euston  Hastings  became 
riveted  upon  it,  and  memory  with  her  rapid  pencil  sketched 
upon  that  canvass  other  forms  and  far  different  scenes. 
He  recalled  all  the  circumstances  attending  those  sittings 
at  which  he  had  presided,  the  very  words — his  whispered 
words — which  had  called  to  her  cheek  the  blush,  and  to  her 
lips  the  smil.3,  which  the  painter  had  so  happily  caught  and 
perpetuated  there.  He  turned  from  the  picture  to  the 
sleeper  at  his  side,  and  how  different  was  the  expression  on 
that  pale,  still  face !  An  unwonted  moisture  sprang  to  his 
eyes,  and  he  walked  to  a  distant  window,  and  looked  out 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  273 

for  some  time.  When  he  turned  back  into  the  room,  hia 
countenance  wore  its  usual  aspect  of  cold  decision,  and 
seating  himself  at  a  table,  he  wrote  with  his  pencil  on  a 
card, 

"  I  came  to  bid  you  good-night,  Evelyn,  as  I  am  going 
out  of  town ;  but  you  are  asleep,  and  I  will  not  awake  you. 
You  shall  hear  from  me  to-morrow" — he  paused,  and  after 
a  moment  of  evidently  careful  thought,  crossed  the  last 
word  and  substituted — "  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Till 
then,  adieu." 

He  laid  the  card  in  a  conspicuous  position  on  the  table, 
and  would  have  passed  directly  to  the  door,  but  involun- 
tarily his  eyes  again  rested  on  that  sleeping  form.  It  was 
the  last  time  it  would  ever  be  seen  by  him,  and  he  ap- 
proached and  gazed  with  deepening  tendernes^s  on  the 
lovely  face  of  the  unconscious  slumberer.  His  good  angel 
stood  beside  him  in  that  hour,  and  whispered  how  soon  the 
act  he  meditated  would  change  its  placid  expression  into 
the  wild  agony  of  hopeless  sorrow,  or  set  upon  it  the  seal 
of  death.  But  his  iron  will  was  already  cast,  and  he  pre- 
pared to  execute  it,  though  not  without  a  pang  which  he 
condemned  as  weakness.  Bending  over  Evelyn,  he  pressed 
his  lips  upon  the  curls  that  lay  upon  her  pillow,  and  mur- 
mured almost  unconsciously — "  Poor  child  !  Poor  child  !  I 
hope  she  will  be  happy  yet.  I  did  not  know  till  now  how 
much  I  still  loved  her" — yet  once  more  he  bent  down  and 
lightly  kissed  her  brow,  then  resolutely  turned  awav.  His 
good  angel  had  departed.  He  came  back  no  more. 

To  those  murmured  words,  to  that  last  light  kiss,  Evelyn 
had  been  conscious,  though,  fearing  by  a  word,  a  look,  to 
break  the  spell  which  had  awakened  such  unusual  tender- 
ness, she  did  not  stir.  She  knew  that  he  had  left  the 
room — probably,  she  thought,  to  prepare  for  dinner — and 
still  she  lay  thinking  over  those  blessed  words,  that  iight, 


274  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

yet  tender  pressure,  and  dreaming  happy  dreams  of  the 
future.  At  length,  about  half  an  hour  after  he  had  left 
her,  she  arose,  and  then  for  the  first  time  saw  and  read  the 
card  he  had  placed  on  the  table.  Disappointed  that  they 
should  not  meet  to-night,  she.  rang  the  bell,  and  inquired  of 
the  servant  who  presented  himself,  "  if  Mr.  Hastings  was 
gone." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  he  just  drove  off." 

"  Was  Dixon  with  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

She  would  have  questioned  farther,  but  checked  by  the 
awkwardness  of  appearing  to  a  servant  so  ignorant  of  her 
husband's  movements,  after  a  moment's  hesitation  she  dis- 
missed the  man,  and  prepared  with  happier  feelings  than 
she  had  long  known,  for  a  lonely  evening  and  night.  "  I 
did  not  know  till  now  how  much  I  still  loved  her,"  were 
words  ever  in  her  thoughts. 

In  the  mean  time  Eusion  Hastings  had  ascended  from 
Evelyn's  boudoir  to  his  own  apartment,  and  rung  the  bell 
for  Dixon. 

"  Well,  Dixon,"  he  said,  on  the  man's  appearance,  "  have 
you  decided  to  go  with  me,  and  give  up  America  ?  You 
understand  that  I  have  no  expectation  of  returning  here." 

"  It  is  not  that,  sir,  that  I  mind.  I  would  rather  go  with 
you  than  live  here  with  anybody  else ;  but,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  sir, — I  hope,  sir,  you  won't  be  angry  with  me  for 
the  truth." 

"  Certainly  not,  Dixon  ;  I  have  spoken  to  you  as  a  master 
seldom  speaks,  and  I  am  ready  to  hear  all  you  have  to  say. 
It  is  a  privilege  earned  by  long  and  faithful  service." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  I'm  sure  you're  very  kind  to  me,  as 
you  always  has  been,  and  I'm  sure  I  wouldn't  mind  going 
with  you  to  the  land's  end  or  the  world's  end  either,  if  Mrs. 
Hastings  was  going  with  you — " 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  275 

"  Then  you  prefer  Mrs.  Hastings'  service  to  mine,"  said 
Euston  Hastings,  reddening. 

"  Oh  no,  sir  !  that  isn't  it,  but — I  am  only  a  servant,  sir, 
and  majjbe  I  oughtn't  to  say  it — but  I'm  afraid,  sir,  you're 
not  doing  right  by  her." 

The  words  were  spoken  and  could  not  be  recalled,  though 
the  lowering  of  Euston  Hastings'  brow  made  Dixon  tremble 
at  the  thought  of  his  own  boldness. 

"  You  are  presuming  on  my  indulgence,  sir,"  said  Euston 
Hastings. 

Dixon  would  have  apologized. 

"Not  another  word,  sir,"  sternly  interrupted  Euston 
Hastings.  "Put  the  things,  of  which  I  spoke  to  you  this 
morning,  in  the  valise  in  my  dressing-room,  and  then  come 
to  me." 

As  Dixon  entered  the  dressing-room,  Euston  Hastings 
turned  to  an  escritoire  near  which  he  stood,  and  unlocking  it, 
took  out  a  letter  over  which  he  glanced  hastily. 

"  I  aknost  wish  it  were  not  quite  so  cold,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; "  but  it  may  be  better  for  her  that  it  is  so — it  will  be 
better  for  her — it  is  the  truer  kindness.  And  now  to  rid  my- 
self quietly  of  Dixon,  and  to  make  such  an  arrangement  for 
this  letter  that  she  will  not  receive  it  till  to-morrow,  or — yet 
better — the  day  after." 

After  some  moments  more  of  seemingly  perplexed  thought, 
he  seated  himself  at  the  escritoire,  wrote  a  few  lines  on  an- 
other sheet  of  paper,  folded  it,  and  sealing  that  he  had  just 
read,  enclosed  them  both  in  one  envelope,  which  he  addressed 

to  J.  G.  Dunlap,  Esq., Chestnut-street,  Philadelphia. 

Before  he  had  concluded  Dixon  stood  beside  him,  but  he 
did  not  appear  to  notice  him  till  the  envelope  was  sealed  and 
addressed,  then  turning  to  him,  he  said  with  his  usual  quiet- 
ness of  manner,  "  You  must  go  to  Philadelphia  immediately, 
Dkon.  I  have  a  letter  here  for  Mr.  Dunlap,  which  I  am 


276  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

not  willing  to  trust  to  the  mail.  You  will  need  no  prepara- 
tion," he  added,  as  Dixon  began  to  say  something  of  getting 
ready — "  as  you  will  return  without  the  delay  of  an  hour. 
Take  my  valise  to  the  carriage,  and  I  will  drive  with  you  to 
the  boat,  for  you  have  not  a  moment  to  spare." 

Accustomed  to  implicit  obedience,  there  was  no  hesitation 
in  Dixon's  movements,  whatever  there  might  have  been  in  his 
mind.  Arrived  at  the  boat,  Euston  Hastings  charged  him 
to  return  as  rapidly  as  possible  after  seeing  Mr.  Dunlap, 
and  to  lose  no  time,  on  his  arrival  in  New  York,  in  deliver- 
ing the  letter  with  which  that  genfieman  would  probably 
charge  him.  At  the  last  moment,  summoning  all  his  cour- 
age, Dixon  said,  "  I  hope,  sir,  you  won't  be  angry  with  me 
for  what  I  was  saying  this  afternoon — " 

"  You  must  leave  that  subject  till  you  come  back,  Dixon ; 
there  is  no  time  to  talk  of  it  now,  for  the  boat  is  ringing  her 
last  bell.  Good-by." 

Dixon  touched  his  hat  and  hurried  on  board.  He  was 
just  in  time.  In  another  second  the  paddles  were  infraction, 
and  the  boat  left  the  dock.  Euston  Hastings  gave  one  sigh 
to  the  faithful  though  humble  friend  of  more  than  twenty 
years.  Already  he  began  to  feel  that  the  path  in  which  he 
had  resolved  to  walk  free  from  all  restraint,  was  not  without 
thorns.  But  his  resolution  was  not  shaken. 

"  To  Bunker's,"  he  cried  to  the  coachman,  and  there  he 
was  soon  set  down. 

The  next  morning  at  ten  o'clock  he  stood  upon  the  deck 
of  a  London  Packet,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  rapidly- 
receding  panorama  of  New  York,  and  with  many  emo:ions 
swelling  at  his  heart.  Among  these  emotions,  an  exhilara- 
ting sense  of  freedom,  and  regret  for  the  desolation  which 
he  had  brought  upon  Evelyn's  life,  contended  for  mastery. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  277 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

44  Ah  me !   *<hat  news? — why  dost  thou  wring  thy  hands?" 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  traveller  to  Philadelphia  moved  not  at  that  time  with 
railroad  speed,  and  Dixon  did  not  arrive  there  till  noon  of 
the  day  after  he  left  New  York.  Mr.  Dunlap  was  at  home. 
He  received  the  letter  from  him,  and  read  with  some  sur- 
prise the  following  lines : 

"  DEAR  DUNLAP, — 

"  The  bearer  was,  for  special  reasons  of  my  own,  some- 
what in  my  way  in  New  York.  Before  he  can  return,  his 
presence  will  be  no  longer  hurtful,  so  that  you  will  oblige 
me  by  sending  him  immediately  back  with  the  letter  which 
you  will  find  in  the  same  envelope  with  yours.  Charge  him  to 
be  careful  of  that  letter,  and  deliver  it  directly  on  his  ar- 
rival. It  is  addressed  to  Mrs.  Hastings,  as  you  will  per- 
ceive. I  shall  have  sailed  for  Europe  before  he  returns. 
This  I  do  not  wish  him  to  know.  Impress  on  him  the  im- 
portance of  care  and  expedition. 

"  Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you  abroad  ?     If  I  can,  com- 
mand me  through  our  old  Paris  banker.     I  write  in  such 
laste  as  to  have  no  time  for  explanations. 
"  Yours, 

"  EUSTON  HASTINGS." 

This  seemed  a  very  strange  proceeding  to  Mr.  Dunlap  ; 
but  Dixon,  who  was  a  man  of  much  natural  shrewdness, 
24 


278  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

had  arrived  at  very  correct  conclusions,  before  he  reached 
New  York  again,  in  relation  to  his  master's  designs.  The 
letter  to  Mrs.  Hastings  in  his  master's  hand,  with  which 
he  was  well  acquainted,  revealed  to  him  the  whole  object 
of  his  journey.  He  doubted  not  that  he  had  already  sailed, 
and  that  this  letter  would  announce  to  Mrs.  Hastings  his 
departure. 

"  She'll  never  be  able  to  stand  it,  for  though  she  used  to 
worry  him  with  her  womanish  ways,  she  loved  the  very 
dirt  he  walked  on.  If  she  had  only  known  how  to  manage 
him  as  well  as  I  did  !  But  the  worst  of  all  is  to  think  that 
he's  gone  to  that  proud  minx — for  I  know  he's  gone  to  her 
just  as  well  as  if  I  seen  them  together." 

Such  were  the  musings  of  Dixon  as  he  approached  New 
York ;  but  all  other  thoughts  vanished  before  the  one  over- 
powering apprehension  of  the  misery  he  was  about  to  in- 
flict on  Evelyn,  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the  house  in  which 
she  was. 

"  She  ought  to  have  somebody  with  her,  poor  thing ! 
It  may  kill  her  outright  to  read  it  all  alone  there,  and 
I  shall  feel  as  if  I  had  murdered  her.  I  have  a  great  mind 
to  go  for  her  father  and  Miss  Raymond,  before  I  give  it  to 
her." 

The  result  of  these  reflections  was,  that  Dixon  went  to 
the  stable,  and  finding  there  only  the  carriage- horses  of 
Mrs.  Hastings,  mounted  one  of  these,  and  urging  him  to 
his  utmost  speed,  rode  rapidly  out  to  Beresford  Hall. 

Mary  and  Mr.  Beresford  were  at  dinner  when  he  was 
announced,  but  this  did  not  prevent  their  seeing  him  im- 
mediately. Dixon  had  arranged  with  himself  his  whole 
plan  of  action  before  his  arrival  at  Beresford  Hall,  but  at 
the  time  he  most  needed  it,  his  self-possession  had  most  com- 
pletely deserted  him.  He  grew  pale,  and  trembled  as  he 
found  himself  in  the  presence  of  the  father  to  whom  he 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  279 

was  to  announce  the  desertion  of  his  daughter.  And 
then,  for  the  first  time,  a  doubt  occurred  to  him,  and  he 
asked  himself,  should  his  master  not  have  gone,  should  he 
have  relinquished  his  design  to  go — a  possible  event — how 
would  he  meet  his  anger,  for  the  development  he  was 
about  to  make?  Oppressed  by  these  thoughts,  he  hesi- 
tated, stammered,  and  gave  such  a  confused  account  of  his 
motives  for  wishing  them  to  go  into  the  city,  that  Mary 
pitied  him  as  mad,  and  Mr.  Beresford  was  angry  with  him 
as  intoxicated.  At  length  he  found  it  necessary  to  pro- 
duce the  letter  of  which  he  was  the  bearer,  in  order  to 
give  any  color  of  truth  to  his  assertion  that  his  master 
was  away,  and  that  he  was  afraid  Mrs.  Hastings  was  going 
to  hear  some  bad  news  of  him.  All  Mr.  Beresford 's  ques- 
tions could  extract  no  more  from  him — he  could  or  would 
give  no  reason  for  thinking  this ;  yet  even  with  such  dis- 
advantages, his  earnestness,  as  he  entreated  them  to  go 
to  Mrs.  Hastings,  now,  when  she  was  probably  to  endure 
the  greatest  trial  of  her  life,  compelled  the  attention  of  those 
to  whom  he  spoke. 

"  I  am  as  sober  as  you,  or  any  man  could  be,  Mr.  Beres- 
ford," he  said  ;  "  I  cannot  say  more  to  you,  because  I  may 
be  all  wrong  in  what  I  think,  and  then  my  master  would 
have  good  reason  to  blame  me ;  but  surely,  sir,  it  is  not  a 
great  deal  to  ask  you  to  ride  into  the  city  to  your  own 
child,  when  she  may  be  going  to  have  a  great  trouble  fall 
on  her." 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Mary,  rising  from  table,  and  ringing 
for  her  bonnet  and  shawl.  Mr.  Beresford 's  heart  had  al- 
ready pronounced  the  same  sentence,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
they  were  on  the  road,  accompanied  by  Dixon.  As  they 
were  entering  the  street  in  which  Evelyn  resided,  Dixon 
rode  up  to  the  carriage-door,  and  touching  his  hat,  seemed 
to  iuvite  a  conference. 


280  CHARMS  AND  CCUNTER-CHARM3. 

Mr.  Beresford  ordered  his  coachman  to  stop,  and  then, 
in  a  dry,  short  tone,  indicating  the  reluctance  with  which 
he  placed  himself  under  the  guidance  of  a  servant,  said. 
"  Well,  sir !" 

"  Mrs.  Hastings  thinks  I  am  with  my  master,  sir,  and  1 
was  afraid  it  might  startle  her  to  see  me  coming  along  with 
you  and  Miss  Raymond ;  so,  if  you  please  to  go  in  first,  sir, 
just  as  if  nothing  was  the  matter,  I  would  come  in  soon  after 
you  with  the  letter,  and  she  would  never  suspect  any  thing." 

It  did  not  require  a  moment's  reflection  to  show  the  pro- 
priety of  this  suggestion,  and  Mr.  Beresford  assented  to  it 
at  once. 

"  Go  in  just  as  if  nothing  was  the  matter !" — easy  in 
speech,  but  how  impossible  in  performance ! — how  impossi- 
ble for  Mr.  Beresford  and  Mary,  whose  hearts  were  chilled 
by  vague  terror !  They  found  Evelyn  alone  in  the  same 
room  in  which  Euston  Hastings  had  last  seen  her.  This 
room  had  become  a  little  paradise  to  Evelyn  since  that  in- 
terview. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Hastings?"  asked  Mr.  Beresford,  after 
their  first  greeting. 

"  I  scarcely  know.  He  left  me  the  day  before  yesterday 
— but  I  shall  see  or  hear  from  him  before  night." 

"  But  how  comes  it  that  you  do  not  know  where  he  is 
gone  ?"  asked  Mr.  Beresford,  to  whom,  for  the  first  time, 
the  idea  of  a  duel  suggested  itself. 

'•  I  was  asleep  when  he  came  to  say  good-by,  and  he 
wrote  his  adieu,  saying,  that  I  should  see  or  hear  from  him 
to-day — it  is  time,  I  think." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  knock  on  the  door.  Mary 
started  as  if  a  cannon  had  been  fired  at  her  side,  and  Mr. 
Beresford  turned  pale,  while  the  rich  coloring  of  hope  dyed 
the  cheeks  of  Evelyn,  as  she  cried  in  a  quick,  eager  tone, 
"  Coine  in." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  281 

It  was  Dixon.  His  pallor,  his  trembling  hand,  would  at 
another  time  have  inspired  Evelyn  with  the  most  dire  appre- 
hension ;  but  now  her  pulses  were  all  tuned  to  joy,  and  she 
saw  only  the  letter  which  he  held  to  her.  The  sight  of  this 
gave  her  some  disappointment.  "  Then  Mr  Hastings  has 
not  come,"  she  said,  as  she  received  it,  in  the  tone  of  a  spoiled 
child  who  had  lost  her  favorite  toy.  "  Wait  a  moment,  Dix- 
on ;"  and  without  apology  to  her  father  or  Mary,  without 
remembering  their  presence,  she  broke  the  seal  of  her  letter. 

Their  eyes — Dixon's — were  riveted  upon  her.  They  saw 
her  glance  eagerly  over  the  first  few  lines,  then  turn  back 
and  read  them  more  slowly,  while  the  color  faded  from 
her  cheeks,  her  lips,  leaving  her  startlingly  pale.  Suddenly 
she  looked  up,  and  met  their  sympathizing  countenances. 
They  seemed  to  bring  her  conviction  of  the  reality  of  that 
which  might  else  have  seemed  but  as  a  hideous  dream. 
She  stretched  out  her  arms,  took  one  tottering  step  towards 
her  father,  and  ere  he  could  reach  her,  fell  with  a  faint  cry 
at  his  feet.  With  Dixon's  aid,  Mr.  Beresford  placed  her  on 
the  couch  on  which  she  had  so  lately  dreamed  those  blessed 
dreams.  The  letter  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  and  while  Mary 
busied  herself  with  the  unconscious  Evelyn,  Mr.  Beresford 
raised  it  thence,  and  with  a  mingling  of  bitter  anguish  and 
hot  anger  which  it  would  defy  all  language  to  express, 
read  the  following  lines : 

"  When  this  letter  is  delivered  to  you,  Evelyn,  I  shall  be 
once  more  a  free  man,  having  bidden  adieu  to  you  and  to 
America  forever.  You  will  have  no  right  to  complain  of 
this,  as  you  were  aware,  when  you  gave  yourself  to  me,  that, 
as  marriage  was  regarded  by  me,  it  could  exercise  no  re- 
straint upon  my  will.  Knowing,  however,  that  you  are  not 
very  logical  in  your  conclusions  where  your  feelings  are  in- 
terested, I  doubt  not  that  you  will  esteem  yourself  the  most 
24* 


282  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

injured  of  women, — that  you  will  fill  earth  with  your  com- 
plaints, and  call  down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  on  my  de- 
voted head.  As  I  care  little  for  the  first,  and  have  less 
dread  of  the  last,  I  shall  offer  no  protest  against  this ;  yet 
the  regard  which,  spite  of  the  past,  I  still  retain  for  you, 
and  a  feeling  of  obligation  of  which,  weak  as  I  consider  it, 
I  cannot,  at  this  parting  moment,  wholly  divest  myself, 
prompt  me  to  do  you  the  real  service  of  pointing  out  to  you 
the  true  causes  of  your  unhappiness.  These,  Evelyn,  have 
one  common  source — YOUR  SELFISHNESS.  I  startle  you ;  for 
you  hlVe  been  accustomed  to  think  yourself  the  most  gener- 
ous of  women,  because  you  were  ready  to  yield  your  for- 
tune, your  services,  your  opinions,  yourself,  to  gratify  your 
friends  or  your  lover.  But  why  were  these  lavish  concessions 
made,  Evelyn  ?  Was  it  not  as  means  to  an  end — and  what 
end  ?  1  answer,  the  binding  them  to  you  in  person  and  heart 
and  mind — the  enslaving  them,  not  only  in  action,  but  in 
thought  and  feeling.  You  know  that  I  make  no  pretence 
of  what  fools  call  generosity — disinterestedness ;  I  do  not 
l;3lieve  in  its  existence.  I  seek  my  own  enjoyment,  and  I 
make  others  subserve  my  interests ;  but  there  is  this  differ- 
ence between  us — I  win  them  to  ray  will,  making  them  find 
their  own  pleasure  in  advancing  mine,  and  ceasing  to  desire 
their  service  when  it  seems  constrained  ;  while  if  you  cannot 
win  you  will  constrain  it,  and  if  you  cannot  do  either,  you 
will  punish,  if  .it  be  possible,  him  who  withholds  it.  Such 
has  been  your  course  with  me,  and  I  will  not  stay  to  be 
punished. 

"  Henceforth,  taught  by  you  the  dangers  which  attend 
more  captivating  forms  of  character,  my  companion  shall  be, 
like  myself,  of  the  laisser-aller  school, — one  who  will  glide 
with  me  gently  and  quietly  along  the  stream  of  life,  seeking 
only  to  attract,  not  to  bind  me,  and  who,  should  some  more 
powerful  magnet  draw  me  from  her  side,  wit  neither  wash 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  283 

her  pleasing  image  from  my  memory  by  tears,  nor  darken 
it  by  frowns. 

"  Had  yoxi  been  such,  Evelyn,  we  should  not  probably 
have  separated  ;  for  even  had  you  ceased  to  be  necessary  to 
me,  you  would  still  have  been  agreeable — and  though  I 
might  not  always  have  found  it  impossible  to  do  without 
you,  it  would  have  continued  very  possible  to  live  with  you. 

"  It  is  useless,  however,  to  waste  the  present  in  reflections 
on  what  might  have  been,  but  cannot  now  be.  Our  con- 
nection is  at  an  end.  I  sincerely  regret  that  I  cannot  free 
you  from  the  legal  tie  by  which  you  are  at  present  fettered. 
In  seven  years,  however,  you  will  be  free — you  will  still  be 
young,  and  if  you  profit  by  the  hints  I  have  now  given 
you,  the  happiest  part  of  your  life  will  be  before  you. 
Should  you  desire  to  form  another  connection  at  an  earlier 
period,  I  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  facilitate  your  obtaining 
a  divorce. 

"  I  sincerely  hope  that  you  will  at  last  learn  to  enjoy 
life,  and  that  your  peace  will  be  henceforth  disturbed  by  no 
painful  remembrance  of, 

"  Yours,  very  truly, 

"  E.  HASTINGS," 

"  And  where  is  Mrs.  Hastings  ?"  asked  Everard  Irving, 
when  he  had  heard  as  much  of  this  history  as  Mr.  Manelli 
could  detail  to  him. 

"  At  her  own  house,"  was  the  reply.  "  She  resists  all 
her  father's  persuasions  to  her  to  return  to  Beresford  Hall — 
resents  bitteily  his  first  natural  expressions  of  anger  against 
the  husband,  who  has  deserted  her,  and  seems  more  anxious 
to  guard  from  injury  the  slight  link  which  still  connects  her 
with  Mr.  Hastings,  than  to  preserve  the  affection,  or  re- 
ward the  kindness  of  any  other  friend.  Miss  Raymond 
seems  very  anxious  about  both  the  father  and  the  daughter. 


284         CHARMS  AND  COUNTER- CHARMS. 

Mr.  Beresford,  she  says,  seems  many  years  older  in  the  last 
two  or  three  months ;  and  Mrs.  Hastings,  she  thinks,  has 
always  a  fever,  yet  she  will  see  no  physician,  and  seems 
impatient  even  of  the  daily  visits  of  her  father  and  herself. 
She  has  told  me  that  she  would  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  she 
should  follow  her  husband  to  Europe." 

Everard  started — a  sudden  light  flashed  upon  him. 

"  Had  not  Mr.  Hastings  a  servant  named  Dixon?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  and,  as  he  did  not  carry  him,  he  has  continued  to 
live  with  Mrs.  Hastings,  who  seems  to  prefer  his  attendance 
to  tehat  of  any  other  person — probably  because  she  associ- 
ates him  in  her  mind  with  her  husband." 

"  She  has  gone  to  Europe — I  am  sure  she  has.  She 
went  on  board  the  steamboat  as  I  stepped  on  shore  this 
morning  ;  even  then  the  tones  of  the  muffled  figure  re- 
minded me  of  her — and  that  man,  Dixon,  was  with  her. 
Let  us  go  to  her  house  and  see  if  it  be  not  so." 

Before  Everard  had  ceased  speaking,  Mr.  Manelli  was  on 
his  feet,  and  they  hurried  away  to Place,  scarcely  ex- 
changing a  word  as  they  went.  A  carriage  stood  at  the 
door  of  the  house  they  sought.  It  aroused  Everard  to  a 
consciousness  of  the  awkwardness  of  his  position,  should 
his  suspicions  prove  incorrect.  What  apology  could  he 
offer  to  Evelyn  for  intruding  himself  upon  her,  or  even  for 
leaving  his  name  at  her  door,  should  she  be  at  home,  and 
yet  decline *to  see  him?  The  peculiarity  of  her  position  as 
a  deserted  wife,  and  the  terms  on  which  they  had  parted, 
would  render  any  presentation  of  himself  to  her,  at  this 
time,  highly  improper.  Under  the  influence  of  such 
thoughts,  he  hesitated  ;  and  Mr.  Manelli,  unconscious  of  his 
doubts,  stepped  before  him  and  rarg  the  bell.  The  door 
was  opened,  but  not  by  a  servant.  It  was  Mary  Raymond, 
pale  and  agitated,  who  stood  there  ;  Everard  saw  her  and 
sprang  forward. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  285 

"  Mary  !"— "  Everard  !"  was  all  they  said,  but  the  color 
which  rose  quickly  into  her  pale  cheek,  and  the  eager  clasp 
of  his  hand,  told  that  theirs  was  no  common  meeting.  The 
next  moment,  Mary  had  forgotten  her  joy  in  the  sorrow  of 
others. 

"  Everard,  you  have  come  at  a  sad  time.    Evelyn — " 

"Has  sailed  for  Europe." 

"  How  have  you  heard  that  ?" 

"  I  landed  at  the  moment  that  she  was  going  on  board 
the  steamboat  wEich  was  to  take  her  to  the  Duchesse 
D'Orleans.  I  stood  close  beside  her,  and  though  she  was 
so  muffled  that  it  was  impossible  to  recognise  her,  I  was 
strongly  reminded  of  her  by  the  tones  in  which  she  ad- 
dressed the  servant  with  her.  She  called  him  Dixon." 

"  Yes — yes  :  I  have  no  doubt  he  has  encouraged  her  in 
this  worse  than  madness." 

"  Call  it  not  so,  my  dear  child,"  said  Mr.  Manelli ;  "  it  is 
not  what  our  reason  would  have  advised,  certainly,  but 
there  is  a  kind  of  intuition  about  you  women — it  seems  an 
inspiration  sometimes — which  is  a  surer  guide  than  rea- 
son ;  it  may  be  that  this  is  the  best  thing  she  can  do." 

"  God  grant  it !  but  it  is  hard  to  look  at  her  poor  father, 
and  believe  that  good  can  come  of  it.  I  fear  it  will  prove 
a  death-stroke  to  him.  But  come  in  and  see  him — perhaps 
your  voice,  Everard,  may  arouse  him." 

They  entered  a  parlor,  and  Everard  followed '  Mary  to 
the  side  of  a  couch,  on  which  lay  Mr.  Beresford  with  closed 
eyes,  and  very  pale,  breathing  heavily. 

"  How  long  has  this  been  ?"  he  exclaimed,  both  shocked 
and  distressed. 

"About  an  hour.  On  our  arrival  here  the  servants 
crowded  around  us,  each  eager  to  tell  that  Evelyn  had  left 
home  this  morning  attended  by  Dixon,  and  taking  with  her 
considerable  baggage,  and  had  not  yet  returned.  Mr.  Beres- 


286  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

ford  strove  to  question  them,  but  sti  ovc  in  vain ;  his  articu- 
lation failed,  and  after  two  or  three  vain  efforts,  pressing  his 
hand  to  his  forehead,  he  tottered,  and  would  have  fallen  but 
for  the  timely  aid  of  those  around  him.  I  sent  for  his  phy- 
sician immediately,  and  was  expecting  him  when  you  arrived. 
But  speak  to  him,  Everard." 

"  Mr.  Beresfoi  d !"  said  Everard,  in  the  subdued  tone  of 
one  awe-struck  by  such  sudden  calamity. 

"  Speak  louder,"  said  the  agitated  Mary.  "  Speak  to  him 
of  Evt  lyn." 

"  Mr.  Beresford,  I  have  seen  your  daughter." 

"  Say  Evelyn." 

"  I  have  seen  your  daughter,  Evelyn,"  repeated  Everard ; 
but  the  words  fell  evidently  on  unconscious  ears. 

"  This  is  dreadful !"  said  Everard. 

"  Poor  Evelyn  !  Poor  Evelyn  ! — what  has  she  yet  to  en- 
dure ?"  cried  Mary,  with  streaming  tears. 

Physician  and  friends  soon  gathered  around  Mr.  Beres- 
ford. He  had  been  ever  a  kind-hearted  man,  sharing  with 
all  within  his  reach  the  good  gifts  with  which  Providence 
had  endowed  him,  and  now  many  hearts  sympathized  with 
his  sorrow.  And  well  might  it  awaken  sympathy  to  see  the 
man  of  strong  frame  and  clear  mind  bowed  to  the  feeble- 
ness of  childhood.  When  a  fortnight  had  passed  away 
alter  his  first  attack,  though  he  had  so  far  recovered  as 
to  recognise  Everard  and  welcome  "him  home,  to  show  a 
preference  for  Mary's  society  and  nursing  over  that  of  any 
other  person,  and  to  evince  a  very  determinate  will  on  one 
subject  at  least,  it  was  evident  to  all  that  a  great  change 
had  passed  over  his  being.  The  erect  form  and  firm  step 
of  middle  life  had  given  place  in  him  to  the  bowed  figure 
and  tottering  movements  of  age ;  scarce  a  shade  of  darker 
color  appeared  now  amid  the  snowy  whiteness  of  his  hair, 
aad  his  countenance  wore  that  indescribable  expression  of 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHAJIMS.  287 

weakness  by  which  the  old  appeal  so  touchingly  to  the 
sympathies  of  the  young.  On  one  subject,  as  we  have  said, 
he  evinced  the  most  determined  will, — this  was  to  follow 
Evelyn  abroad,  and  persuade,  or,  if  necessary,  compel  her 
return  with  him  to  America. 

"  We  have  hitherto  kept  him  quiet  by  assuring  him  there 
was  no  packet  about  to  sail,  but  this  we  cannot  long  say 
with  truth ;  and  deception,  were  we  willing  to  practise  it, 
has  become  impossible,  since  he  now  sees  the  papers  and 
examines  the  advertisements  for  himself.  What  can  we 
do  ?"  asked  Mary  of  Dr.  Huntly. 

"  Let  him  go  by  the  first  packet  that  sails.  Change  of 
scene,  constant  gentle  exercise,  and  an  object  to  interest  his 
feelings  and  attract  him  on — these  are  the  very  conditions 
most  favorable  to  his  recovery,  and  these  he  will  have  in 
travelling  after  Evelyn." 

"  But  how  can  he  travel  in  his  present  feeble  state  ?" 

"  Very  well — with  a  good  servant,  and  such  a  nurse  as 
you  are — you  will  go  with  him,  of  course." 

Mary  did  not  answer.  Everard  was  present ;  and,  as  the 
physician  so  quietly  pronounced  the  sentence  which  would 
send  her  abroad  for  probably  a  year  or  more,  she  involun- 
tarily looked  towards  him.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her 
with  an  expression  which  she  never  saw  in  them  before :  it 
was  one  which  made  her  quickly  avert  her  glance ;  she  did 
not,  therefore,  see  the  flush  which  rose  to  his  brow,  nor  the 
embarrassment  with  which  he  turned  away  to  a  window 
near.  He  stood  there,  leaning  against  the  casement,  till  the 
physician  had  gone,  and  then,  while  Mary  was  hesitating 
whether  to  leave  him  or  remain,  he  approached  her  and 
said — 

"  You  must  not  go  alone  with  Mr.  Beresford,  Mary. 
Dr.  Huntly  does  not  consider  you  sufficiently — you  must 
have  a  friend  and  protector  as  well  as  a  servant.  It  would 


288  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

be  my — if  it  were  possible,  I — Mr.  Manelli,  I  mean, — do 
you  not  think  he  would  go  with  you  ?" 

"  Perhaps  he  would,"  said  Mary,  languidly,  and  with  a  feel- 
ing of  disappointment  which  she  could  not  altogether  control. 

"  Shall  I  speak  to  him  for  you  ?"  asked  Everard. 

"  If  you  please." 

And  so  they  parted,  more  coldly  than  they  had  done  of 
late,  with  feelings  on  the  part  of  each  which  the  other  little 
suspected.  Before  they  met  again,  all  arrangements  had 
been  made  for  Mary's  accompanying  Mr.  Beresford ;  Mr. 
Manelli  having  consented  cheerfully  to  go  with  them,  when 
assured  that  Aspasie  would  have  all  which  her  present  po- 
sition demanded,  in  the  society  of  an  elderly  lady,  a  friend 
of  Mr.  Beresford,  who  had  taken  lodgings  with  her,  and 
in  the  protection  and  kindly  offices  of  Everard.  Still  many 
delays  occurred — first,  from  increased  illness  in  Mr.  Beres- 
ford, and  then  from  unexpected  difficulties  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  business  which  he  could  not  leave  in  an  unsettled 
state  ;  and  it  was  the  latter  part  of  July,  nearly  three  months 
after  Evelyn's  departure,  before  they  sailed. 

Mary's  last  day  in  Ame;ica  was  spent  at  Beresford  Hall, 
whither  Mr.  Beresford  had  refused  to  return  from  some  ot 
those  unaccountable  caprices  which  often  mark,  more  sadly 
than  any  physical  change,  the  influence  of  disease.  Having 
completed  the  arrangements  which  had  brought  her  there 
before  the  hour  at  which  she  had  ordered  the  carriage,  and 
finding  the  sense  of  loneliness  within  the  house  oppressive, 
she  walked  out.  Everard  Irving  arrived  soon  after  with  a 
message  from  Mr.  Beresford,  respecting  certain  papers  which 
Mary  was  to  bring  to  him,  and  having  learned  in  what  di- 
rectioij  she  had  gone,  he  followed  her,  and  found  her  stand- 
ing at  the  river's  brink,  almost  oh  the  spot  where  he  had 
breathed  his  first  vows  of  love  in  Evelyn's  ear.  The  asso- 
ciations with  the  place  made  them  both  silent.  Each  would 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  289 

gladly  have  been  elsewhere,  yet  there  was  a  certain  con- 
sciousness about  each  which  checked  an  avowal  of  this  feel- 
ing. Everard  was  the  first  to  throw  off  this  awkward 
restraint.  After  several  feeble  efforts  to  sustain  conversa- 
tion on  other  subjects,  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  Poor  Ev- 
elyn !  how  present  she  is  to  me  in  this  scene  as  I  once  saw 
her  here !  It  was  here  I  first  told  her  that  I  loved  !  How 
difficult  it  is  to  realize  that  two  years  have  changed  the  gay, 
light-hearted  songstress  of  that  happy  evening  into  a  desert- 
ed, heart-broken  wife !  Not  such  was  the  fate  which  my 
heart  then  promised  her." 

He  spoke  calmly  though  earnestly.  Mary  was  more 
agitated. 

"  Pardon  me,  Everard,"  she  said,  "  that  I  did  not  think 
sooner  how  painful  this  scene  must  be  to  you — let  us 
leave  it." 

"  Not  yet,  Mary,"  he  replied,  as  he  took  the  hand  she 
had  laid  upon  his  arm.  "  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you 
understand  me  better  on  this  subject  than  I  think  you  do, 
before  we  part.  The  regret  which  this  scene  awakens,  is 
for  Evelyn  only.  Did  she  stand  before  me  now,  free  as 
she  was  then  in  heart  and  hand,  I  would  not  seek  to  make 
her  mine.  And  yet,  Mary,  I  loved  her  truly — but  it  was 
the  love  of  an  untried  boy  ignorant  of  the  necessities  of 
his  own  nature,  though  with  sensibility  enough  to  feel  the 
beauty  and  grace  of  hers.  Two  years  have  worked  on  me 
the  change  of  ten.  I  now  understand  myself,  and  I  need 
in  the  object  oi  my  life's  devotion — but  it  is  no  matter 
what  I  need,"  he  said,  suddenly  dropping  her  hand,  and 
changing  with  startling  abruptness  his  tone  of  earnest  feel- 
ing for  one  of  badinage — "  the  law  must  be  my  mistress 
for  some  years  to  come  at  least." 

"  Not  necessarily,  Everard.  Nay,  permit  me  to  say  what 
I  have  only  wanted  an  opportunity  to  say  before — it  is  but 
25 


290  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

to  ask,  that  you  will  give  my  fortune  value  in  my  eyes  by 
letting  it  procure  for  me  the  pleasure  of  promoting  your 
happiness,  whenever  fortune  can  do  this." 

"  Thank  you !  Thank  you,  Mary — this  was  what  I  knew 
I  might  expect  from  you,  and  I  frankly  promise  you,  that 
should  I  be  compelled  to  look  out  of  myself  for  the  sup- 
ply of  a  want,  it  shall  be  to  you ;  but  of  this  I  have  little 
fear  if  my  health  continue.  Already,  through  the  kind- 
ness of  some  of  those  friends  to  whom  your  father  intro- 
duced me  here,  and  to  whom  on  my  arrival  in  May  I  made 
known  my  change  of  fortune,  and  my  desire  for  employ- 
ment, I  have  obtained  some  business ;  and  should  you  stay 
away  two  years — so  quickly  are  character  and  fortune 
gained  in  our  country — I  hope  to  be  found  by  you  in  the 
enjoyment  of  an  income  sufficient  for  all  reasonable  wants." 

"  In  two  years  !  you  are  sanguine." 

"  I  may  be,  for  it  is  my  nature  ;  but  of  one  thing  I  am 
assured — one  thing  I  have  already  gained — an  object  in 
life — a  work, — farewell  to  ennui  and  all  its  train  of  hor- 
rors !  I  tell  you  truly,  Mary,  I  would  not,  for  the  fortune 
I  have  lost,  be  again  as  I  was  a.  few  months  since,  an  idle 
man — an  unconnected  atom  in  the  universe,  blown  hither 
and  thither  by  every  wind  of  impulse." 
>  "  I  rejoice  that  you  have  found  the  true  secret  of  happi- 
ness— a  work  for  noble  ends." 

"  For  noble  ends  !  Ah,  there  y/ou  stepped  beyond  my 
limits.  As  yet,  my  work  must  be  for  the  ignoble  end  of 
satisfying  my  own  natural  wants — nothing  else  could  have 
set  me  to  work,  I  fear — nothing  else  perhaps  could  now 
keep  me  to  work ;  but  higher  motives  may  succeed." 

"  They  will,  Everard — they  will.  You  were  not  made 
to  forget  the  wants  of  a  world  in  your  own." 

Mary's  face  was  radiant  with  lofty  feelings,  and  Everard 
gazed  upon  her  with  undisguised  admiration,  as  he  ex- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  291 

claimed,  "  Ah,  Mary !  could  I  have  you  ever  at  my  side, 
attracting  me  from  sordid,  earthly  cares,  to  a  purer,  a  heaven- 
lier  sphere — " 

"  If  ye  please,  ma'am,  John  says  it's  past  six  o'clock, 
an'  the  carriage  has  been  a  waitin'  for  ye  half  an  hour  an' 
more,"  was  said  at  their  side  in  a  brogue  which  left  no  doubt 
of  the  country  of  the  speaker. 

Mary  sighed — Everard  bit  his  lips  with  vexation,  feeling 
more  than  half  ashamed  of  the  enthusiasm  into  which  he 
had  been  betrayed,  and  both  turned  sadly  and  silently  to 
the  house.  The  next  day,  while  one  was  poring  over  the 
authorities  necessary  to  establish  a  disputed  point  in  law, 
the  other  was  becoming  acquainted,  for  the  first  time,  with 
the  dread  sublimities  of  ocean. 


292  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  Oft  expectation  fails,  and  most  oft  there 

Where  most  it  promises " 

SHAKSFEARK 

"  The  mask  is  off — the  charm  is  wrought — 
And  dearer  seems  each  dawning  smile 
For  having  lost  its  light  awhile." 

MOORE. 

ECSTOK  HASTINGS  was  once  more  beneath  the  clear,  warm 
skies  of  Italy — that  land  in  which  it  had  seemed  to  him, 
while  distant  from  it,  that, 


But  to  breathe,  hut  to  live, 


Was  worth  the  best  joy  that  life  elsewhere  could  give  ;" 

and  yet  there  lay  a  deeper  shadow  on  his  brow,  and  his 
heart  was  more  unresting  than  ever. 

And  Mrs.  Mabury  ?  One  brief  flash  of  triumph  when 
Euston  Hastings  stood  beside  her,  and  she  felt  that  she 
had  won  him  from  the  world — had  been  followed  by  the 
darkness  of  midnight  as  she  discovered,  that,  with  all  her 
power,  she  still  failed  to  fill  the  restless  void  in  the  heart 
of  him  to  whom  she  would  have  been  as  the  one  object  hi 
the  universe. 

Ever  thus  is  repeated  with  each  of  us,  the  trial  and  the 
sin  of  our  first  mother.  Ever  does  God  place  us  anew  in 
a  fair  world,  surround  us  by  objects  of  delight,  and  say  to 
us — "  All  these  good  and  beautiful  tilings  are  thine,  but  of 
this  tree  eat  not ;"  and  still  do  we,  unwarned  by  example, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


untaught  by  precept,  turn  unthankfully  from  all  else,  and 
fasten  eye  and  heart  upon  the  forbidden  fruit.  We  pluck 
and  eat,  and  then  our  eyes  are  opened,  and  we  see  that  we 
have  despised  good  and  chosen  evil ;  and  we  are  driven 
forth  from  the  Paradise,  in  which  God  visited  us,  and  good 
angels  communed  with  our  spirits.  Those  gates  may  never 
open  to  us  again  ;  yet,  blessed  be  God  ! — for  him  who  rec- 
ognises with  humility  the  evil  of  his  choice,  and  who  bows 
humbly  to  his  Father's  chastening,  there  shall  arise  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth. 

The  proud  nature  of  Mrs.  Ma-bury,  chafed  by  the  con- 
viction that  in  permitting  Euston  Hastings  to  become  her 
constant  companion,  she  had  betrayed  to  him  his  power 
over  her,  grew  watchful  of  his  every  word  and  look.  Ever 
fearing  estrangement,  or  fancying  slight,  she  had  in  a  few 
weeks  convinced  him,  that  the  bonds  enforced  by  social 
law  and  religious  obligation  are  rarely  so  onerous  as  those 
which  we  forge  for  ourselves,  and  which  we  wear  only  by 
our  own  wills. 

It  was  June,  and  the  setting  sun  poured  its  beams  upon 
a  terraced  garden  of  the  Eternal  City,  where  fountains, 
guarded  by  forms  of  beauty,  gleamed  through  the  dark, 
polished  green  of  the  orange  and  lemon,  and  fed  with  their 
bright,  pure  waters  beds  of  roses  and  violets.  Within  a 
room,  whose  windows  commanded  this  enchanting  scene, 
sat  Mrs.  Mabury,  alone.  She  had  been  reading,  but  the 
book  now  lay  upon  her  lap,  with  one  hand  resting  on  the 
page  which  she  had  last  read — the  other  hanging  listlessly 
down.  Her  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  garden,  yet  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  she  saw  it  not :  she  seemed  to  be  looking 
far  beyond  it,  into  the  vacant  air, — peopling  it  probably 
with  images  of  her  own  creation.  As  she  sat  thus,  the 
door  opened,  ana  Euston  Hastings  entered.  It  might  have 
been  thought  that  his  step  was  unheard  by  her,  but  for 
25* 


294  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

the  deepening  of  the  flush  upon  her  cheek.  She.  did  not 
stir  even  when  he  drew  near  enough  to  take  her  hand,  and 
press  it  to  his  lips.  The  hand  relinquished,  fell  again  to 
her  side  as  lifelessly  as  if  it  were  something  over  which  she 
had  no  control. 

"  Of  what  are  you  dreaming,  Estelle  ?"  he  asked. 

Slowly,  and  as  if  with  effort,  she  turned  to  him  as  she 
said,  "  Of  the  past." 

"  That  is  treason  to  love,  which  knows  no  time  but  the 
present." 

"  The  brightness  of  the  present  is,  with  me,  but  a  reflec- 
tion from  the  past." 

Euston  Hastings  was  silent  for  a  while,  then  bending 
down,  he  read  the  title  of  the  book  on  her  knee.  It  was 
the  Italy  of  Rogers. 

"  I  have  been  reading  the  story  of  Ginevra,"  said  Mrs. 
Mabury. 

"  And  it  has  made  you  sad." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  thought  it  enviable  to  die  as  she  did, 
when  life  and  love  were  in  their  glorious  noon." 

"  You  think  it  easier  then  to  leave  the  world  when  all 
around  you  is  bright  and  glorious?" 

"Easier — far  easier  than  to  watch  the  brightness  and 
the  glory  fading  away,  till  nothing  is  left  you  but  memory, 
and  you  sometimes  question  whether  that  be  not  a  de- 
lusion." 

"  But  must  it  be  thus  ?  may  we  not  hope,  that  in  some 
happy  cases,  the  sun  of  life  and  love  remain  undimmed  to 
the  last  ?" 

"  That  cannot  be ;  for  how  can  love  and  life  remain  un- 
dimmed within  the  shadow  of  the  grave  ?" 

"  The  shadow  of  the  grave ! — Are  we  not  evermore  in 
that?" 

A  more  spiritual  faith  would  have  taught  Mrs.  Mabury, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  295 

that  love  is  often  brightest  in  that  shadow,  as  stars  shine 
with  most  brilliancy  in  the  darkest  nights. 

"At  least,  Estelle,"  resumed  Euston  Hastings,  after  a 
few  moments  of  thoughtful  silence,  "we  will  not  court 
that  gloomy  shadow  to  our  thoughts, — let  us  rather  seize 
every  enjoyment  that  life  offers  us  beyond  its  circle." 

Mrs,  Mabury  did  not  answer ;  but  after  some  time,  with 
more  animation  of  manner  than  she  had  hitherto  evinced, 
she  said — "  I  have  determined  to  go  to-morrow  with 
Monsieur  and  Madame  ,  to  Florence;  will  you  ac- 
company us  ?" 

"  I  cannot,  Estelle." 

"  Say,  rather,  you  will  not." 

The  face  of  Euston  Hastings  flushed  as  in  anger,  yet  he 
replied  in  mild  tones,  "  No ;  my  will  would  lead  me  to  go 
with  you,  were  it  not  controlled  by  other  considerations. 
I  hope  you  will  think  better  of  this,  and  remain  till  I  can 

g°-" 

"  I  have  already  said  I  would  go,  and  I  cannot  now  with- 
draw from  the  party  without  better  reasons  than  I  have  to 
give  for  my  change  of  purpose.  It  would  hardly  suit  me 
to  say  that  I  could  not  leave  you  at  the  very  time  that  you 
are  evincing  your  indifference  to  my  society." 

"  Allow  me  to  say,  Estelle,  that  you  do  not  state  this 
question  quite  fairly.  I  told  you  always,  from  the  first  pro- 
posal of  this  journey  to  Florence,  that  I  could  not  leave 
Rome  yet  for  some  weeks ;  and  it  was  not  till  after  I  had 
said  this  that  you  seemed  inspired  by  so  strong  a  desire  to 
visit  Florence  at  this  particular  time.  Had  I  known  this 
wish  sooner,  I  would  have  made  my  own  arrangements  to 
correspond  with  it." 

"  I  should  have  been  sorry  in  any  degree  to  interfere  with 
your  arrangements.  You  can  join  me  when  it  suits  your 
convenience,  unless  a  new  caprice  should  have  sent  me  off 


296  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHALMS. 

from  Florence  before  that  time.  But  ought  we  not  to  pre- 
pare for  the  Cardinal's  ?" 

Who  that  had  seen  Mrs.  Mabury  that  evening,  as  splen- 
didly dressed  she  moved  the  queen  of  the  festive  scene, — 
who  that  listened  to  her  Ight  badinage  or  her  soul-entran- 
cing music,  could  dream  that  beneath  this  gay  and  graceful 
exterior  lay  hot  anger  and  gnawing  -jealousy  and  bitter  re- 
gret ?  Euston  Hastings  moved  about  coldly  calm,  sometimes 
kindling  up  into  a  bright  flash  of  mirth  and  wit,  but  oftener 
silent,  and  seemingly  abstracted  from  present  objects. 

"  He  is  debating  the  point  with  himself,  and  will  go  with 
me  at  last,"  said  Mrs.  Mabury,  as  she  noticed  his  increased 
though tfulness  of  countenance  and  manner. 

"  She  cannot  love  such  an  icicle,"  thought  the  gay  and 

gallant  Marchese  di  S ,  as  he  glanced  from  the  beautiful 

American  to  her  reputed  lover ;  and  he  welcomed  the  sug- 
gestion, for  he  had  resolved  to  become  the  competitor  of 
Euston  Hastings  for  the  favor  of  Mrs.  Mabury,  "pour  ses 
beaux  yeux  et  pour  les  beaux  yeux  de  sa  cassette,'11  the  last  of 
which  had  been  greatly  extolled  by  fame. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Mabury  set  out  from  Rome  for 
Florence.  She  almost  repented  the  test  to  which  she  had 
subjected  the  love  of  Euston  Hastings,  when  she  found  that 
he  was  true  to  his  resolution  of  not  accompanying  her.  Her 
last  hope  expressed  itself  in  the  thought,  "  He  will  follow 
me  immediately  if  he  loves  me ;  and  if  he  does  not,"  she 
added, 

" '  Better  to  die  by  sudden  shock, 

Than  r»erish  piecemeal  on  the  rock.'" 

"If  I  begin,"  hought  Euston  Hastings,  "by  yielding 
every  thing  to  Estelle,  there  will  be  no  end  to  her  exactions. 
I  will  not  suffer  myself  to  be  governed  by  such  evident 
caprice  as  this  cf  her  visit  to  Florence.  You  will  let  me 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  297 

hear  from  you  soon  and  often,  Estelle,"  he  added  aloud,  as 
he  placed  her  in  the  carriage. 

"  Oh  yes !  and  pray  let  me  know  how  your  engagements 
come  on  here,"  she  replied  gayly. 

"  Evelyn  could  not  have  left  me  thus,"  was  his  last  reflec- 
tion as  the  carriage  wheeled  into  another  street,  and  he 
turned  to  retrace  his  steps  into  the  house. 

And  to  this  cold  parting,  with  bitterness  in  either  heart, 
had  a  few  short  months  brought  the  passionate  attachment 
which  no  obligation,  however  sacred,  could  repress,  but 
which  was  strengthened  by  no  sentiment  of  duty.  Thus 
must  all  which  is  wholly  of  the  "  earth,  earthy"  decay  and 
die.  Blessed  be  God  !  that  there  are  some  human  ties  into 
which  His  blessing  has  infused  a  Divine  principle  of  life. 
These  only  can  endure. 

Days — a  week  passed,  and  still  Euston  Hastings  lingered 
in  Rome.  He  was  beginning  to  feel,  though  scarcely  yet 
prepared  to  admit  even  to  himself,  that  he  was  not  quite 
happy  even  in  Italy,  freed  from  all  conventional  restraints, 
and  in  the.  very  position  and  circumstances  which  his  own 
will  had  created.  He  was  taking  the  first  step  towards  that 
grand  lesson  which  it  is  the  business  of  life  to  teach  us, — 
that  there  is  in  the  universe  a  wiser  and  safer  guide  than  oui 
own  wills.  He  had  entered  little  into  society  since  Mrs 
Mabury  had  left  him,  and  those  of  his  acquaintances  who 
met  him  in  his  lonely  walks  or  rides  through  Rome  and  it? 
environs,  accounted  plausibly  enough  for  his  love  of  solitude 
by  the  dejection  which  it  was  supposed  must  be  the  conse- 
quence of  the  desertion  of  the  beautiful  mistress  whom  it  was 

whispered  the  Marchese  di  S had  borne  away  from  him. 

His  highest  enjoyment  was  now  found  in  a  solitary  ride  over 
the  Campagna,  where  the  sense  of  freedom  he  so  loved 
was  fostered  by  its  heaven-wide  horizon.  From  such  a  ride 
he  returned  one  evening  just  as  the  last  hues  of  day  were 


298  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

gleaming  in  the  western  sky,  and  was  met  by  his  servant — 
an  American,  filled  with  the  most  exaggerated  ideas  of  the 
dishonesty  of  the  "  furriners"  by  whom,  for  the  first  time, 
he  found  himself  surrounded — with  the  face  of  one  who 
feels  that  he  has  important  intelligence  to  communicate. 

"  Here's  the  key  of  your  parlor,  sir,"  he  said. 

This  parlor  was  a  room  adjoining  that  in  which  Euston 
Hastings  slept.  It  commanded  a  very  beautiful  view,  and 
he  had  used  it  as  a  reception-room,  and  had  his  few  books 
and  writing-materials  there ;  but  as  these  were  not  articles 
likely  to  tempt  the  dishonest,  he  had  never  cared  to  place 
them  under  a  lock,  and  he  now  remonstrated  with  his  man 
for  having  done  so,  saying  there  was  nothing  there. 

"  There's  more  there,  sir,  than  you  think  for,"  was  the 
reply.  "  You  see,  sir,  about  half  an  hour  ago,  a  woman 
and  a  man  corned  to  the  hotel  and  axed  for  you,  and  when 
they  heard  you  wasn't  in,  the  man  said  that  lady  would 
•wait  for  you  in  your  room;  and  then  she  sort  of  drew 
back,  and  he  said  somethin'  to  her  about  it's  bein'  the  last 
chance  that  ever  she'd  have,  and  so  then  she  went  along 
with  me.  I  tried  to  see  who  she  was,  but  she  kivered  her 
face  up,  so  I  couldn't ;  and  so  I  thought  she  hadn't  come 
after  no  good,  and  so  I  just  made  bold  to  lock  the  door  and 
take  the  key  out." 

"  And  where  is  the  man  ?" 

"  That's  what  I  can't  tell,  sir.  I  ran  back  to  look  for 
him,  but  he  wasn't  to  be  seed  nowhere." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  the  poor  woman  has  come  to  beg — 
you  were  very  wrong  to  lock  her  in  there.  Attend  to  my 
horse  now.  Rub  him  down  well,  and  walk  him  some  time 
before  you  give  him  drink — he  has  "been  hard  ridden. 
When  you  hate  done  with  him,  inquire  at  the  post  for 
letters." 

Having  thus  disposed  for  some  time  of  his  prying  do- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  299 

mestic,  to  his  manifest  dissatisfaction,  as  he  had  expected 
that  his  care  for  his  master's  goods  would  have  been  re- 
warded at  least  by  witnessing  the  denouement  of  the  mystery 
which  lay  beneath  the  lady's  veil,  Euston  Hastings  pro- 
ceeded with  steps  somewhat  quickened  by  curiosity  to  the 
room  indicated.  As  he  entered,  he  perceived  in  the  dim 
twilight  a  female,  whose  form  as  well  as  face  was  muffled 
in  a  long  and  thick  veil.  She  stood  near  a  sofa,  as  if  she 
had  just  arisen  from  it  on  hearing  his  approach ;  and  even 
in  that  dusky  light,  the  tremor  which  shook  her  frame,  and 
her  shrinking  posture,  marked  her  extreme  agitation.  The 
manner  of  Euston  Hastings  towards  woman,  was  ever  re- 
spectful; and  as  he  now  closed  the  door  and  advanced 
towards  his  mysterious  visiter,  his  grave  and  distant  polite- 
ness might  have  relieved  her  from  all  fear  of  personal  in- 
sult, yet  turning  her  head  wildly  around  as  if  searching  for 
some  avenue  of  escape,  she  continued  to  retreat  from  him 
till  she  had  reached  the  farthest  limit  of  the  room  in  that 
direction.  Pitying  her  alarm,  Euston  Hastings  paused  in 
his  approach,  saying,  "  Permit  me  to  ask,  to  whom  I  have 
the  honor  to  address  myself ;  or,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  reveal 
your  name,  tell  me  at  least  in  what  I  can  be  of  use  to  you." 

His  question  was  not  answered,  and  he  repeated  it  in 
French  and  in  Italian.  The  lady  still  continued  silent,  and 
as  it  now  occurred  to  him  that  there  had  been  some  mis- 
take, he  said,  "I  am  Mr.  Hastings,  for  whom  I  have  been 
told  you  inquired.  I  regret  that  my  stupid  attendant 
should  have  confined  you  to  this  room  during  my  absence. 
Should  you  wish  to  leave  it  now,  I  assure  you,  you  may  do 
so  without  the  slightest  fear  of  constraint." 

Without  a  word,  a  sound,  though  wringing  her  clasped 
hands  as  if  in  bitterest  wo,  the  woman  turned  to  go.  rj  he 
next  moment  made  a  startling  revelation.  We  have  s  lid 
that  she  had  retreated  to  the  wall  of  the  room,  and  had 


300  CHARMS  AND  COULTER-CHARMS. 

stood  pressed  back  against  it.  Some  nail  or  point,  pro- 
jecting from  this  wall,  had  caught  the  riband  of  her  bon- 
net, which  had  probably  been  untied  for  air  before  the  en- 
trance of  Euston  Hastings,  and  as  she  turned  towards  .the 
door  it  was  pulled  from  her  head.  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  but  it  was  too  late. 

"  Evelyn  !"  exclaimed  Euston  Hastings. 

She  stood  before  him  in  trembling  silence,  her  face  still 
covered  with  her  clasped  hands. 

"  Evelyn !  Have  you  followed  me  even  here  with  your 
reproaches  ?" 

Suddenly  her  hands  fell,  and  the  glow  from  the  western 
sky  falling  upon  her,  showed  that  notwithstanding  the  at- 
tenuation both  of  her  face  and.  person,  her  eyes  were 
sparkling  with  more  than  their  natural  fire,  her  cheeks 
were  flushed,  and  her  lips  of  the  brightest  red. 

"  Speak  not  to  me,  thus,"  she  exclaimed,  "  talk  not  of 
reproaches.  I  have  none  to  make  you." 

"  Why,  then,  are  you  here  ?" 

"  Because  I  am  mad — because  my  heart  thirsted  to  look 
upon  you,  even  from  a  distance — to  hear,  perhaps,  the 
sound  of  your  voice,  though  addressed  to  another.  Yet 
had  another  been  with  you,  I  would  have  turned  away  and 
died  in  silence :  but  1  saw  you,  I  heard  you,  I  knew  you 
were  alone,  and  then  the  madness  grew  upon  me  to  come 
to  you,  to  entreat  your  pardon,  and  perhaps — -blessed 
thought ! — to  die  at  your  feet." 

"  Evelyn,  this  is  worse  than  folly." 

"  I  know  it ;  it  is  madness — it  is  a  fearful  consciousness  , 
is  it  not  ?" 

Terrified  by  the  wildness  of  her  language  and  the  glitter 
of  )  er  eye,  he  endeavored  to  soothe  her. 

"  Nay,  Evelyn — dear  Evelyn,"  he  said  ;  "  sit  down — com- 
pote yourself,  and  let  us  talk  together." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  301 

"  Dear  Evelyn  !"  she  repeated  in  an  accent  of  joy  ;  "  dear 
Evelyn  !  bless  you  for  those  words  !  I  will  think  of  them 
when  far  from  you,  and  they  shall  cool  my  burning  brain. 
You  have  forgiven  me,  and  I  will  leave  you.  Do  not  fear 
to  see  me  again.  I  will  be  near  you, — for  you  will  not 
deny  me  this, — to  breathe  the  air  you  breathe,  and  some- 
times to  stand  where  your  shadow  falls :  but  I  will  not 
claim  your  notice ;  never  again  will  I  ask  to  see  you  till  my 
dying  hour.  Then  you  will  come  to  me — will  you  not  ? 
and  take  me  once  more  to  your  heart,  and  let  me  die  there. 
Promise  me  this,  and  I  will  be  gone  and  trouble  you  no  more." 

Euston  Hastings  was  deeply  touched, — more  deeply  by 
her  humble,  pleading  voice,  than  even  by  her  words.  Un- 
able to  speak,  he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her :  he  would 
instantly  have  withdrawn  them,  but  already  with  a  glad  cry 
she  had  thrown  herself  upon  his  bosom,  and  it  was  not  in 
human  nature  to  put  her  thence. 

It  was  long  ere  he  was  composed  enough  to  speak  or 
she  to  listen  ;  but  Euston  Hastings  was  not  one  in  whom  an 
emotion  could  overpower  for  more  than  a  moment  the  res- 
olutions of  a  perverted  reason.  As  soon  as  he  had  recov- 
ered his  self-command,  he  placed  her  upon  a  sofa,  and 
seating  himself  beside  her,  said,  "  Evelyn,  you  must  return 
to  America." 

"  Do  not  send  me  from  you,"  she  cried,  clinging  to  him 
as  if  she  feared  even  then  to  be  torn  away.  "  Grant  me 
this  one  favor,  to  be  near  you :  no — you  will  not — you  can- 
not send  me  from  you." 

"  But,  Evelyn,  do  you  understand  that  I  can  never  con- 
sent to  acknowledge  you  again  as  a  wife,  or  to  return  with 
you  to  the  country  where  I  would  be  compelled  to  admit  the 
validity  of  our  marriage  ?" 

"  Do  you  call  another  wife,  then  ?" 

"  No — at  this  moment  there  is  no  other  so  near  my  heart, 
26 


302  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Evelyn,  as  you  are ;  ^ut  this  affection  cannot  overbear  the 
convictions  of  my  reason,  or  the  emotions  of  an  hour  oblit- 
erate the  experience  of  months.  I  will  never  yield  again  to 
any  woman  the  power  to  torture  with  which  the  name  and 
position  of  a  wife  endows  her-;  therefore,  Evelyn,  and  not 
because  you  are  not  dear,  very  dear  to  me" — and  he  drew 
her  closely  to  his  bosom  even  while  he  added,  "I  bid  you 
leave  me." 

"  Never — never,"  murmured  Evelyn,  as  she  threw  her 
arms  around  him ;  "  if  I  may  not  be  your  wife,  I  will  be 
friend,  sister — " 

"  That  cannot  be,  Evelyn." 

"  The  lowest  menial  in  your  house,  then — the  humblest 
dependent  on  your  bounty— only  let  me  be  with  you." 

"  Evelyn,  hear  me  !  Of  menial  or  dependent  it  were  vain 
to  speak,  but  sister  or  friend  you  cannot  be.  There  is  but 
one  alternative,  my  Evelyn — we  must  part ;  or — or — do  you 
hear  me,  Evelyn  ?— you  must  "fill  a  wife's  place  without  a 
wife's  name.  Will  you  do  this  ?" 

Evelyn  grew  pale,  and  the  eyes  which  had  been  fixed 
upon  him  as  she  lay  upon  his  bosom,  closed. 

"  Answer  me,  Evelyn — yet  consider  first — can  you  bear 
shame  for  me,  the  world's  frown,  and  separation  from  all 
others  ?  Can  you  bear  this,  and  be  loved  as  never  wife  was 
loved,  or  will  you  preserve  the  world's  respect,  Evelyn,  and 
let  us  part — part  now  and  forever  ?" 

As  he  concluded,  he  loosed  her  from  the  embrace  in 
which  he  had  held  her,  and  added,  "  Evelyn,  you  are  free 
to  choose — will  you  be  mine  or  the  world's  ?" 

Evelyn  clung  closer  to  him  as  she  found  herself  thus  re- 
leased, and  murmured,  "  Yours — yours." 

Still  he  left  her  fiee  as  he  repeated,  "As  if  no  marriage 
vow  had  passed  between  us,  Evelyn  ?" 

"  Yours — yours,  as  yo  i  will." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  303 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  It  was  new  life— the  earth,  the  sky 
Seemed  to  grow  fairer  for  thy  sake : 
But  this  is  gone." 

PASSION  had  achieved  its  victory.  The  pride  of  woman  in 
Mrs.  Mabury, — her  pure  and  noble  instincts,  her  delicate  and 
generous  affections  in  Evelyn,— had  proved  feeble  barriers 
against  its  power.  In  neither  had  it  found  that  which  alone 
can  resist  its  most  insidious  or  most  determined  attacks  :  in 
neither  was  there  a  deep  and  true  religious  faith,  working  the 
conviction  that  there  is  a  law  superior  to  the  world's  law, 
— an  affection  holier  than  any  earthly  one,  to  which  every 
sentiment  must  be  brought  into  subjection, — a  law  which 
cannot,  like  the  world's  law,  be  evaded — which  has  respect 
not  only,  like  that,  to  the  outward  act,  but  to  "  the  thoughts 
and  intents  of  the  heart," — an  affection  in  whose  strength 
we  shall  be  enabled  to  resist  counsels  and  persuasions  from 
the  voice  most  loved  on  earth. 

To  evade  the  inquisitive  observation  of  his  present  attend- 
ant, and  to  rid  himself  of  the  embarrassing  presence  of 
Dixon,  were  the  objects  to  which  Euston  Hastings  first  ad- 
dressed himself.  The  first  was  accomplished  by  removing 
Evelyn  from  the  hotel  in  which  he  lodged  to  another,  during 
the  temporary  absence  of  the  man,  and  in  a  different  dress 
and  without  the  mufflings  in  which  he  had  seen  her  enter. 
The  second  object  was  not  so  easily  attained  ;  but  after  some 
days  of  inquiry,  Euston  Hastings  heard  of  an  English  gen- 
tleman about  to  travel  eastward,  who  wanted  a  good  ser- 
vant. He  recommended  Dixon,  and  without  much  difficulty 


304  CHARMS  /ND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

procured  the  situation  for  him.  Evelyn  then,  by  his  direc- 
tion, sent  for  Dixon,  made  him  a  handsome  present  as  a  re- 
ward for  his  fidelity  to  her,  told  him  of  the  excellent  place 
which  Mr.  Hastings  had  at  her  request  procured  for  him, 
and  requested  that  he  would  neither  write  nor  speak  to  any 
one  about  her,  as  she  did  not  wish  that  it  should  be  known 
at  present  where  she  was.  Once  relieved  from  any  appre- 
hension of  Dixon's  observation  and  reports  at  home,  Euston 
Hastings  conveyed  Evelyn  to  one  of  the  most  delightful 
villas  in  the  neighborhood  of  Rome,  where,  assuming  her 
maiden  name,  she  was  known  as  Mrs.  Beresford.  Here  he 
surrounded  her  with  every  luxury  that  could  gratify  the 
sense,  and  lavished  on  her  every  mark  of  tenderness  that 
the  most  exigeant  heart  could  desire.  So  absorbed  was  he 
for  some  time  in  these  engagements,  that  it  was  with  a  per- 
ceptible start  and  an  actual  pang  he  was  recalled,  by  a  let- 
ter in  the  handwriting  of  Mrs.  Mabury,  to  a  consideration  of 
his  relations  with  her. 

Does  such  forgetfulness  appear  impossible  ?  It  can  only 
do  so  to  those  who  do  not  understand  the  true  character 
of  that  feeling  with  which  he  had  regarded  her.  She  had 
never  touched  his  heart,  though  no  other  woman  had  exer- 
cised such  influence  over  his  imagination,  or  played  so  skil- 
fully with  his  passions.  To  such  an  influence,  the  only 
qualities  requisite  are  those  which  awaken  admiration ;  but 
to  touch  the  heart, — to  call  into  being  that  love  which  will 
endure  through  the  changes  and  chances  of  time — that 
love  which,  purified  from  the  dross  of  earth  by  death  and 
the  grave,  shall  be  immortal  as  our  spirits, — far  other  at- 
tributes are  neede/1 — attributes  that  command  esteem.  It 
is  in  spotless  angel-robes  that  the  spirit  of  the  one  we  truly 
love  first  presented  itself  to  our  souls ;  and  though  spots 
and  blemishes  have  afterwards  perchance  forced  themselves 
on  our  attention,  use  and  multiplied  associations  and  the 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  305 

sacred  bond  of  duty  had,  before  that,  strengthened  the  sen- 
timent with  whose  origin  some  illusion  may  have  mingled. 
Let  woman  ever  remember  that  the  graces  of  person,  the 
adornments  of  dress,  the  flimsy  coquetries  of  manner,  by 
which  she  sometimes  seeks  to  win,  can  awaken  no  sentiment 
gratifying  to  a  pure  and  noble  mind. 

The  germ  of  a  true  affection  for  Evelyn  had  more  than 
once  been  touched  into  life  in  the  heart  of  Euston  Has- 
tings, by  what  were  the  real  excellencies  of  her  nature — its 
transparent  ingenuousness — its  delicate  purity — its  devoted- 
ness  ;  but  the  emotion  had  'ever  been  crushed  almost  at  its 
birth  by  her  exigeance  acting  upon  his  long-indulged  selfish- 
ness. He  now  regarded  her  with  a  strangely-compounded 
sentiment,  to  which  the  truth  and  fidelity  of  her  affection 
for  him  gave  somewhat  of  esteem,  checked  and  restrained 
by  her  ready  abandonment  of  all  other  principles  and  duties, 
while  her  entire  dependence  upon  him  communicated  to  it  a 
pitying  tenderness,  such  as  we  feel  for  charming  yet  help- 
less infancy.  She  had  certainly  never  before  been  an  object 
of  such  absorbing  interest  to  him ;  and  though  he  felt  him- 
self in  some  degree  bound  to  Mrs.  Mabury,  and  compelled 
in  honor — so  do  men  sometimes  misuse  terms — not  to  break 
with  her  at  present,  he  was  watchful  not  to  wound  Evelyn 
by  suffering  any  thing  which  could  betray  this  liaison  to  ap- 
pear before  her,  and  he  resolved  that  he  would  not  leave  her 
for  some  time,  even  for  a  visit  to  Florence.  Having  arrived 
at  this  decision,  and  written  accordingly  to  Mrs.  Mabury 
that  he  should  be  detained  for  some  weeks  longer  at  Rome, 
he  abandoned  himself  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  intercourse 
with  her,  spending  most  of  his  time  at  the  villa,  though  re- 
taining his  rooms  in  Rome,  and  professedly  living  there. 
He  was  never  checked  in  his  devotion  by  fear  of  establish- 
ing presumptuous  claims  in  Evelyn,  for  she  was  almost  pain- 
fully humble  and  apprehensive  of  any  thing  that  could  seem 
26* 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


like  a  demand  upon  him.  Every  word  of  his  parting  letter 
had  burned  itself  into  her  heart,  and  she  was  morbidly  sen- 
sitive to  the  least  taint  of  selfishness  in  h3r  motives  of  action 
as  regarded  him. 

And  now,  surely,  it  will  be  thought  Evelyn  was  happy. 
Here  was  the  very  Paradise  which  her  fancy  had  sketched, 
with  scarce  a  hope  of  its  attainment.  The  glorious  sky,  the 
balmy  air,  the  fragrant  flowers,  the  joyous  birds,  and  all  the 
more  distant  beauties  of  hill  and  vale  and  stream — these 
formed  the  materiel  of  a  picture  whose  living  spirit  was  love 
— the  love  for  which  she  had  longed  and  labored  and  sacri- 
ficed all  else.  And  now  what  was  wanting  to  her  ?  All 
was  wanting  which  constitutes  true  happiness — a  heart  at 
peace  with  itself— the  smile  of  God.  Of  the  last  she  did 
not  yet  think ;  for  while  external  circumstances  are  agree- 
able to  us,  we  seldom  suspect  that  we  are  under  the  shadow 
of  His  frowa,  who  often  makes  afflictions  his  chosen  mes- 
sengers of  love.  But  she  could  uot  be  unmindful  of  the 
strife  in  her  own  heart.  All  the  beauty  around  her  could 
not  obliterate  from  her  memory  the  home  of  her  childhood, 
or  the  love  which  had  guarded  her  there.  She  sometimes 
woke  from  her  sleep  with  the  word  "  Father"  on  her  lips. 
She  once  took  courage  to  ask  Euston  Hastings  if  she  might 
write  to  her  father.  The  question  brought  the  only  frown 
she  had  seen  upon  his  brow,  as  he  answered  it  by  another. 

"  What  would  you  tell  him,  Evelyn  ?" 

"  He  must  be  very  unhappy  about  me,"  she  ventured  to 
suggest. 

"  If  you  Avish  simply  to  inform  him  that  you  are  well  and 
happy,  do  so,  and  I  will  send  the  letter  in  such  a  way  that 
he  will  not  know  whence  it  comes ;  but  say  nothing  of  me, 
Evelyn,  for  I  "vill  not  deceive  your  father,  and  these  ties  of 
the  heart  which  satisfy  us,  beloved,  would  hardly  be  enough 
for  him.  He  would  be  for  enforcing  the  recognition  of  our 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  307 


marriage,  and,  this  effected,  I  would  flee  from  you,  Evelyn, 
to  the  earth's  remotest  verge." 

EveJyn  turned  pale  with  terror,  and  though  soothed  by 
his  caresses,  she  was  careful  to  write  no  more  than  he  per- 
mitted to  her  father. 

From  this  time  a  more  remorseful  sense  of  the  unhallowed 
nature  of  the  tie  connecting  her  with  Euston  Hastings  fell 
on  her  soul.  She  shrank  from  the  observation  of  others, 
and  hung  her  head  with  shame  if  one  of  her  own  servants 
looked  fixedly  upon  her.  In  vain  she  said  to  herself,  "  I 
am  his  wife  ;"  the  very  name  she  bore  witnessed  against  her 
that  she  had  released  him — voluntarily  released  him  from 
that  bond.  These  thoughts  vanished  at  the  approach  of 
Euston  Hastings,  who  was  ever  greeted  by  glad  smiles. 

The  silent,  hidden  struggle  thus  going  on  in  the  soul  ef 
Evelyn,  was  strengthening  and  disciplining  it  for  future 
trial,  while  her  reasoning  powers  were  hourly  acquiring  force 
by  the  exercise  of  accusing  or  excusing  herself.  It  is 
often  thus,  in  these  secret  mines  of  thought,  that  the  mind 
labors  in  the  task  of  perfecting  itself,  and  the  world  exclaims 
when  some  fair  occasion  reveals  to  them  the  accomplished 
work.  Euston  Hastings  sometimes  caught  a  glimpse  of 
this  new  stage  of  advancement  in  Evelyn's  mental  being — a 
glimpse  merely ;  for  the  next  moment,  fearful  of  the  effect 
she  might  have  produced  on  him,  she  was  a  child  again — 
dependent,  timid,  or  sportive. 

One  day,  stealing  unexpectedly  upon  her,  he  found  her 
in  tears  :  "  What  is  this,  Eva  ?"  he  cried. 

Evelyn  remembered  his  antipathy  to  tears,  and  answered 
quickly  and  deprecatingly,  "  Nothing  in  the  present — only 
some  sad  memories  which  will  come  sometimes  when  you 
are  away." 

"Well,  I  am  here  now,  and  whatever  it  was,  you  must 
think  on  it  no  more,  mia  carissima." 


308  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

They  were  in  the  garden,  where,  under-  the  shade  of 
orange  trees,  and  screened  from  view  by  a  trellis,  covered  with 
the  green  leaves  and  purple  clusters  of  the  grape,  Evelyn 
often  sat  with  books  or  work.  Seeing  the  gardener  at  a 
distance,  Euston  Hastings  went  towards  him  to  give  him 
some  directions.  The  man  was  either  stupid  or  obstinate, 
and  some  ten  minutes  passed  ere  Euston  Hastings  could 
make  him  acknowledge  that  he  understood  him.  As  he 
turned  from  him  towards  Evelyn,  he  saw  that  she  was 
writing  with  a  pencil  on  a  slip  of  paper,  which,  at  his  nearer 
approach,  she  threw  into  her  basket. 

"  What  is  that,  Eva  ?"  he  cried.  "  Something  treason- 
able, by  the  care  with  which  you  guard  it  from  me." 

"  No — not  treasonable,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  placing 
her  hand  over  the  basket  into  which  she  had  thrown  it. 

"  That  fair  hand  is  only  a  temptation,  Eva,  not  a  de- 
fence," he  exclaimed  gayly,  and  seizing  it,  pressed  it  to 
his  lips.  While  he  held  it  thus,  he  possessed  himself  of  the 
paper  that  lay  beneath  it,  and  read  from  it  the  following  lines : 

"  Think  on't  no  more  !     Say,  canst  thou  chain 

The  lightning's  arrowy  flash  ? 
Or  with  a  silken  curb  restrain 
The  wave's  tempestuous  dash  ? 

"  Hast  thou  a  magic  wand,  to  lay 
The  struggling  winds  to  sleep  ? 
Or  in  its  mid  career  to  stay 
The  fierce  tornado's  sweep  ? 

"  These  done,  yet  dream  not  thou  canst  bind 

The  electric  flash  of  thought, 
Or  still  with  charmed  words  the  mind, 

By  passion  tempest-wrought."  • 

"  Really,  Evelyn,  that  is  not  bad,  if  improvised  upon  my 
foolish  words  just  now.  My  vine  will  become  an  oak  one 
of  these  days,  and  stand  without  me." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


"  Never — never  without  you,"  and  the  thinker  was  again 
only  the  lover. 

How  long  this  life  could  have  endured,  if  not  interrupted 
by  external  circumstances,  we  know  not ;  for  a  few  weeks  only 
had  passed  when  a  dark  pall  fell  over  its  summer  bright- 
ness. The  garden  walks  were  no  longer  trodden,  and  the 
house,  with  its  closed  shutters,  was  as  dark  and  as  still  almost 
as  the  grave.  Within  one  chamber  of  that  house  there  was 
life  indeed — but  life  made  manifest  only  by  agony.  There, 
for  ten  days,  had  Euston  Hastings  lain  burning  with  fever  ; 
now  in  wild  delirium — now  in  unconscious  stupor.  He 
had  been  attended  throughout  the  attack  by  an  English  phy- 
sician, who  was  spending  the  summer  at  a  neighboring  villa. 

Dr.  Chambers  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  who,  possessing 
some  fortune,  and  only  a  small  family,  had  practised  his 
profession  rather  from  choice  than  necessity,  till  consump- 
tive tendencies  warned  him  rather  to  attend  to  his  own 
health  than  to  that  of  others.  He  had  resided  three  years 
abroad,  and  though  he  dared  not  yet  return  to  a  colder 
clime,  he  was  well  enough  in  the  mild  climate  of  Italy 
for  the  enjoyment  of  life,  and  even  for  the  occasional  prac- 
tice of  his  art  among  his  countrymen  who  were  congre- 
gated at  Rome.  Euston  Hastings  had  made  some  ac- 
quaintance with  him  previous  to  his  illness,  and  by  one  of 
those  fortunate  accidents  in  which  the  grateful  and  devout 
heart  acknowledges  a  merciful  Providence,  he  was  met  by 
him,  returning  from  Rome,  on  the  last  day  he  had  visited 
that  city.  Dr.  Chambers  was  in  an  open  carriage,  Euston 
Hastings,  as  usual,  on  horseback.  They  stopped  to  say  a 
few  words  in  passing,  and  the  physician,  looking  with  a 
practised  eye  upon  the  languid  expression  and  pallid  face 
of  Euston  Hastings,  said,  "  You  are  ill,  sir." 

"  I  fear  I  am,  doctor.  Will  you  examine  my  pulse  and 
exercise  your  healing  art  in  my  favor." 


310  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  Why,  you  have  fever  now,  sir,"  was  the  doctor's  hur- 
ried exclamation,  after  resting  his  fingers  a  moment  on  the 
wrist  extended  to  him.  "  My  first  prescription  is,  that  you  get 
off  that  horse  and  into  this  carriage.  I  will  drive  you  home, 
and  my  boy  can  take  your  horse." 

Euston  Hastings  was  suffering  much,  and  he  gladly  com- 
plied with  this  proposition ;  yet  when  they  approached  the 
house,  he  said,  "  Suffer  me  to  enter  without  you,  doctor ; 
there  is  one  in  that  house  who  would  be  greatly  alarmed 
by  seeing  me  return  attended  by  a  physician." 

"  A  lady  ? — I  did  not  know  there  was  a  Mrs.  Hastings." 

"  There  is  not,  sir,"  said  Euston  Hastings,  with  a  flushed 
cheek  and  a  very  decided  manner. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  there  are  few  things  more  desirable  to 
an  ill  man,  than  a  good  wife.  There  is  no  such  nurse  in  the 
world." 

The  doctor  drew  up,  and  suffered  Euston  Hastings  to 
precede  him,  as  he  had  requested  ;  but  following  sooner 
probably  than  he  had  been  expected,  he  found  his  patient 
extended  on  a  sofa,  and  one  of  the  loveliest  young  crea- 
tures he  had  ever  beheld,  kneeling  beside  him,  with  a  face 
almost  as  pallid  as  his  own,  tearful  eyes,  and  quivering  lips. 
She  was  pressing  her  hand  upon  his  forehead ;  and  as  the 
doctor  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  at  her  through  the  open 
door,  he  saw  her  more  than  once  press  her  lips  to  the  dark 
curls  which  she  had  pushed  back  from  his  forehead. 

Dr.  Chalmers  was  a  husband  and  father.  He  estimated 
such  ties  as  they  deserved,  and  had  no  toleration  for  the 
fashionable  immoralities  of  the  day.  As  he  looked  upon 
the  scene  we  have  described  with  no  approving  eye,  an  ex- 
pressive "  Humph  !"  broke  frofc  him.  That  its  meaning 
was  obvious  to  her  who  had  excited  it  was  manifest,  for 
the  color  rushed  to  her  temples,  and  rising  from  her  knees, 
she  withdrew  to  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  and  concealed 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  311 

herself  within  the  draperied  recess  of  a  window.  She  did 
not  a"gain  appear  during  this  visit. 

During  the  three  or  four  first  days  of  the  illness  of 
Euston  Hastings,  Dr.  Chambers  abated  nothing  of  his  cold 
and  even  haughty  manner  to  the  pale  watcher  at  his  side ; 
but  as  the  disease  progressed,  and  he  read  the  terror  of  her 
heart  in  her  eager,  questioning  eyes,  he  could  not  resist  the 
benevolent  desire  to  impart  some  comfort  to  one  so  young 
and  so  wretched.  Slight  was  the  comfort  he  could  give 
with  truth. 

"  You  must  not  be  so  despairing,"  he  said  to  her. 

"  Oh  !  sir,  will  he  recover  ?" 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Then  there  is  a  doubt.  It  is  not  all  my  foolish  appre- 
hension. Even  you  feel  there  is  a  doubt." 

"Mr.  Hastings  is  undoubtedly  very  ill.  I  cannot  say 
that  he  is  not  in  danger ;  but  his  constitution  is  strong,  and 
with  the  blessing  of  heaven — " 

"  Oh !  sir,  you  are  a  good  man,  and  your  prayers  will  be 
heard  :  will  you  not  ask  that  blessing  for  him  ?" 

"Ask  it  yourself,  my  poor  child." 

"  1  dare  not — I  dare  net !  I  have  nothing  in  heaven  or 
on  earth  but  him :  he  is  my  all — my  all !"  and  again  and 
again  she  kissed  the  forehead  of  the  unconscious  sufferer, 
over  whom  her  unheeded  tears  were  falling  thick  and  fast. 

Poor  Evelyn !  She  had,  as  she  said,  nothing  else  on 
earth  or  in  heaven,  but  the  love  of  that  heart  which  seemed 
fast  approaching  its  last,  dying  throb  :  for  that  she  had 
given  all  else, — home,  country,  father — the  approbation  of 
her  own  heart — the  smile  of  heaven  ;  all  had  been  as  dust 
in  the  balance,  weighed  against  that  love :  and  now  her 
idol  lay  before  her  in  all  the  helplessness  of  mortality,  and 
she  dared  not  ask  for  him  the  mercy  of  that  God  whom 
both  had  forgotten,  and  oae  at  least  had  contemned.  The 


312  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

past  rose  vividly  before  her.  She  remembered  how  she 
had  heard,  without  an  expression  of  dissent  or  even  of  re- 
gret, his  avowal  of  disbelief  in  all  things  spiritual ;  how 
she  had  received  in  silence,  if  not  in  indifference,  his  ac- 
knowledgment that  to  him  there  was  no  sanctity  in  marriage  ; 
that  the  only  law  to  him  in  that,  as  in  all  things,  was  his 
own  will ;  and  how  she  had  herself  consented  to  regard 
that  sacred  bond  which  God  himself  had  established,  as 
but  a  form,  to  be  admitted  or  set  aside  at  his  pleasure. 
And  now,  how  could  she  approach  the  Supreme  Majesty 
of  the  universe  in  prayer  for  him  whom  she  had  thus  ele- 
vated above  Him?  And  yet,  how  dear  to  her  now  would 
have  been  the  Christian's  faith  !  She  remembered  how  she 
had  read  in  her  long-forgotten  Bible  of  the  Divine  Saviour ; 
that  he  never  cast  from  him  the  broken-hearted  Avho  came 
to  Him  to  seek  relief  for  their  loved  ones ;  that  He  had 
wept  with  them  in  their  sorrows,  had  healed  their  sick,  and 
restored  their  dead  to  life.  What  an  inestimable  balm 
would  access  to  such  a  Saviour  have  been  to  her  lonely  and 
desolate  heart ;  how  she  longed  to  bear  her  sick  to  His 
feet !  But  when  she  would  have  drawn  near  to  Him,  His 
voice  seemed  ever  uttering — "  Depart  from  me,  ye  workers 
of  iniquity !" 

For  ten  days,  through  the  long  day,  and  the  dark,  silent 
night,  she  had  sat  beside  that  couch.  Others  sometimes 
came  to  aid  when  it  was  necessary,  but  she  was  ever 
there.  It  was  she  who  bathed  his  fevered  brow,  and  moist- 
ened his  parched  lips,  and  marked,  hour  by  hour,  the 
shadow  deepening  on  his  face.  On  the  morning  of  the 
eleventh  day,  Dr.  Chambers  came,  accompanied  by  a  lady 
of  grave  but  benevolent  aspect.  It  was  Mrs.  Chambers. 
She  had  heard  from  her  husband  what  he  knew  or  fancied 
of  the  sad  story  of  the  young  and  sorrowing  stranger  ;  and 
she  had  heard,  too,  his  apprehension  that  this  would  be  the 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  313 

last  day  of  the  life  on  which  her  own  seemed  to  hang  ;  and 
she  had  said  to  herself :  "  She  is  a  sinner,  doubtless ;  but 
this  is  no  time  to  remember  her  sin  against  her.  She  must  not 
be  left  alone,  to  watch  the  dread  agonies  of  the  parting  hour." 

When  Evelyn  heard  the  physician's  step,  she  glanced 
upward ;  but  the  next  moment,  seemingly  unconscious  of 
the  presence  of  any  other,  her  eyes  riveted  themselves  on 
the  senseless  form  beside  her.  The  anguish,  the  despair  in 
her  face,  brought  ready  tears  into  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Cham- 
bers ;  and  the  good  doctor,  with  a  freedom  he  had  never 
used  before,  laid  his  hand  upon  her  head,  as  he  said  :  "  I 
have  brought  my  wife  to  see  you.  She  is  good  and  kind, 
and  will  pray  for  your  friend." 

"  Will  you,  madam — will  you  ?" 

"I  will,  my  dear;  and  you  will  pray  with  me." 

"  Hush !  hush !  I  dare  not  even  speak  His  name,  lest 
he  should  punish  me  for  polluting  it,  by  snatching  him 
sooner  from  me." 

"  This  is  dreadful  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Chambers,  "  to  re- 
gard God  as  an  enemy."  . 

"  And  is  He  not  the  enemy  of  sinners  ?" 

"  God  so  loved  the  world — the  sinful  world — that  He 
gave  His  Son  to  die  for  it ;  and  God  commended  His  love 
towards  us,  in  that  while  we  were  yet  shiners,  Christ  died 
for  us !  The  sin  which  is  felt  and  repented  of — the  sin 
which  we  have  determined  to  forsake,  can  no  longer  sepa- 
rate us  from  the  love  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord  ;  and 
surely  you  cannot  look  there  without  sore  repentance,  and 
an  earnest  determination  never  again  to  be  one  of  the 
stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of  that  immortal  soul's  ap- 
proach to  God  and  holiness." 

A  low  cry  burst  from  Evelyn's  lips. 

"  Spare  me  !  spare  me ! — and  yet  you  but  repeat  what 
my  own  heart  has  said." 

27 


314  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

,  "  And  can  you  be  regardless  of  its  lessons  ?" 

"  Oh  no  !  no  ! — let  me  only  watch  by  him  till — till — lie 
needs  no  watching,  and  I  will  never  see  him  more ;"  and 
with  a  wild  burst  of  grief,  Evelyn  bent  her  head  upon  the 
pillow,  and  murmured,  "  It  is  for  thy  sake,  beloved.  Thy 
poor  Evelyn  hath  nothing  to  hope — nothing  to  wish  for 
where  she  has  surrendered  thee ;  but  it  may  be  that  God 
will  accept  the  sacrifice  she  offers,  and  give  thee  life  and 
hope  and  joy." 

"  There  has  been  a  nobler  sacrifice  than  any  thou  canst 
offer,"  said  Mrs.  Chambers,  as  she  laid  her  hand  soothingly 
on  the  young  head,  bowed  down  so  low  with  shame  and 
grief.  "  God  has  given  His  own  Son  to  be  a  sacrifice  for 
our  sins,  and  shall  He  not  with  him  freely  give  us  all 
things  ?  The  Divine  Saviour  even  now  looks  down  on  you 
with  pity.  Come  with  me  to  His  feet,  and  ask  Him  to  have 
mercy  on  you  and  on  him  you  love." 

Evelyn  sank  on  her  knees,  burying  her  face  in  the  bed- 
clothes. Mrs.  Chambers  knelt  beside  her,  and  in  low, 
gentle  tones  and  simple,'  earnest  words,  commended  the 
young  stranger  and  him,  the  seemingly  dying  man,  to  the 
pitying  Saviour. 

How  blessed  is  prayer  under  such  circumstances  as 
those  of  Evelyn!  When  all  earthly  props  have  broken 
under  us  as  reeds,  or  pierced  us  as  daggers — how  Divine 
a  rest  does  the  sinking  soul  find  in  the  arms  of  Heavenly 
Mercy !  The  words  of  prayer  ceased,  and  Mrs.  Chambers 
rose  from  her  knees,  but  Evelyn  knelt  still.  Hours  passed 
away,  and  still  she  retained  her  prostrate  position,  an- 
swering to  every  attempt  to  raise  her,  "  I  am  better  so." 
And  through  those  hours,  Mrs.  Chambers  sat  beside  her, 
and  repeated  from  time  to  time  some  precious  promise  or 
soothing  assurance  of  God's  love.  A  more  peaceful  ex- 
pression gradually  stole  over  Evelyn's  face,  and  something 


CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  315 


of  a  child's  love  and  trust  b«£<m  to  arise  in  her  heart. 
To  this  Divine  Saviour — this  merciful  Father,  from  whom 
had  proceeded  such  words  of  "u>;,  who  was  not  her  enemy, 
but  her  truest  and  tenderest  friend,  she  strove  in  weak,  un- 
certain, and  trembling  taith  to  commit  her  way,  and  to  leave 
the  yet  dearer  interests  of  him  oiie  loved. 

"  Our  Father  in  Heaven  loves>  him,  too  ?"  she  said  in  awed 
tone?  to  Mrs.  Chambers. 

"  He  is  his  Father,  too.  His  tender  mercies  are  over  all 
His  works." 

"  Then,  Father,  Thy  will  be  done !  We  have  chosen  ill  for 
ourselves — choose  thou  for  us." 

The  shadows  of  evening  began  to  close  around  the  room, 
while.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Chambers  were  watching  over  two 
sleepers — for  Evelyn,  too,  slept  in  a  large  chair  beside  the 
bed — the  first  sleep  she  had  known  for  many  days.  Such 
had  b«en  the  first  blessed  effect  of  her  late  inspired  faith 
in  the  Divine  mercy.  When  she  awoke,  Dr.  Chambers  was 
leaning  over  her.  He  whispered,  "  I  can  give  you  hope 
now — his  sleep  is  natural — he  will  be  conscious  when  he 
awakes,  so  command  yourself,  be  perfectly  quiet — any 
agitation  in  his  present  feeble  state  would  be  fatal." 

Evelyn  turned  very  pale.  For  an  instant  he  thought  she 
would  faint,  but  she  drank  the  vrater  he  held  to  her  lips, 
and  her  color  came  again.  She  uttered  no  sound,  but 
after  one  long  look  at  the  deathlike  face  beside  her,  tears 
began  to  steal  down  her  cheeks,  and  bowing  her  head  into 
her  clasped  hands,  she  endeavored  to  send  her  thoughts 
upward  to  Him  from  whom  help  had  come  to  her  in  her  ex- 
tremest  need. 


316  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


4  t   -,  CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  No  grief  can  touch  thy  sweet  and  spiritual  smile- 
No  pain  is  keen  enough  that  it  has  power 
Over  thy  childlike  lore." 

DANA. 

THE  recovery  of  Eustcn  Hastings  was  rapid.  While  the 
languor  and  debility  of  disease  Irmg  around  him,  a  new 
nature  seemed  to  have  been  breathed  into  him.  The  pride 
of  reason,  its  cold,  stern  dictates,  no  longer  ruled  his  life ; 
his  heart  was  awake  and  active.  Tears  stood  in  his  eyes 
as  he  gazed  on  Evelyn's  pale  cheek,  and  said  tenderly, 
"  You  h.ive  almost  paid  for  my  life  with  your  own,  love." 

Often  did  Evelyn  turn  from  these  demonstrations  of 
tendermss  to  weep  alone,  and  to  seek  strength  in  prayer 
for  the  performance  of  her  vow.  But  old  habits  of  action 
and  speech,  and  probably  of  thought  and  feeling,  came 
back  with  firmer  health.  Amongst  the  letters  which  had 
accum^ated  in  Rome  for  him  durliig  his  illness,  were  two 
from  M  rs.  Mabury.  In  the  first  of  these,  she  said,  "  The 

Marche:  e  di  S is  my  cavalier  servante.  He  would  change 

the  title  to  that  of  husband,  but  I  cannot  consent  to  this, 
till  I  ha -re  found  some  one  to  supply  his  place  in  the  former 
capacity-.  I  would  offer  It  to  you  if  it  were  not  for  these 
Roman  jpgagements." 

The  text  letter  was  very  short,  and  it  was  evident  to 
Euston  Hastings  that  it  had  been  written  under  the  in- 
£  a  bitterly- wounded  spirit.  It  ran  thus ; 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  317 

"  Had  I  not  been  prepared,  by  the  brevity  and  infrequency 
of  your  letters  since  I  left  you  in  Rome,  for  your  ceasing  to 
write  at  all,  as  you  have  now  done,  it  could  not  have  failed  to 
cause  me  great  anxiety.  As  it  is,  I  am  so  far  from  desiring 
to  constrain  you  to  the  continuance  of  a  correspondence 
which  has  ceased  to  please,  that  I  write  only  to  say  that  I 
shall  probably  soon  form  ties  which  must  at  least  greatly 

modify  our  future  communications.    The  Marchese  di  S 

has  almost  persuaded  me  that  the  character  of  a  wife  may 
be  endurable  in  Italy,  especially  when  decorated  by  the 
title  of  Marchesa.  However  I  may  be  kno^n  to  the  world, 
I  shall  still  remain,  if  you  permit  it, 

"  Very  truly  your  friend, 

"  E.  MABURY." 

Euston  Hastings  reflected  long  over  this  letter.  It  was 
not  altogether  unpleasing  to  him ;  and  as  he  observed  the 
date,  and  saw  that  nearly  three  weeks  had  passed  since  it 
was  written,  he  flattened  himself  that  his  appearance  in 
Florence  now  would  be  remarkably  well-timed.  If  there 
was  any  thing  more  than  a  coquettish  finesse  in  the  hints 

thrown  out  respecting  the  Marchese  di  S ,  he  would  be 

too  late  to  prevent  that  connection,  which  he  now  most 
earnestly  desired ;  yet  soon  enough  to  convince  Mrs.  Mabury, 
from  his  still  feeble  appearance,  that  his  illness  alone  had 
caused  his  seeming  neglect,  and  thus  to  save  himself  from 
her  reproaches,  and  her  from  a  mortification  peculiarly  b't- 
ter  to  a  character  in  which  pride  was  so  predominant  a  fea- 
ture. But  what  should  he  do  with  Evelyn  ?  He  looked 
up,  and  saw  her  soft,  mournful  eyes — for  such  they  had 
become — riveted  upon  him.  They  were  instantly  avert- 
ed. 

"  Evelyn,"  he  said,  "  I  ought  to  go  to  Florence.  I  ought 
indeed  to  have  gone  before  this  time ;  but  you  have  held  me 
27* 


318  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

chained  here,  and  now  I  cannot  leave  you.  Will  yea  go 
with  me  ?" 

"  Let  us  not  talk  of  tliat  to-day,"  said  Evelyn,  beseech- 
ingly- 

"  Why  not  to-day  ?  Will  to-morrow  suit  you  better, 
capricious  one  ? — I  cannot  postpone  it  longer." 

"  To-morrow,  then — to-morrow  be  it,"  said  Evelyn,  and 
left  him. 

That  evening,  when  Euston  Hastings  retired  to  his  dress- 
ing-room, he  found  on  his  toilet  the  following  letter:. 

"  It  is  useless  for  me  to  strive  to  say  to  you,  I  must  leave 
you — I  have  no  voice  for  the  words.  But  they  are  written — 
you  have  read  them — you  know  that  your  Evelyn  is  yout-s  no 
longer.  But,  beloved,  she  ceases  to  be  yours  only  that  she 
may  be  God's.  I  had  forgotten  Him,  beloved — I  had  for- 
gotten that  the  universe  held  any  being  greater,  nobler  than 
thou ;  and  I  strove  and  struggled,  often  unwisely,  madly  for 
thy  love, — for  that  I  held  all  else  as  worthless.  I  was  no 
longer  a  daughter,  a  friend,  a  child  of  God.  I  was  nothing 
but  thine — body  and  soul  thine.  And  thou  hast  been  very 
tender  to  me,  beloved — thou  didst  forgive  thy  poor  Evelyn, 
and  take  her  again  to  thy  heart;  but  even  while  I  lay 
there,  Death  came  between  us.  I  saw  his  shadow  stealing 
over  thee — thou  wast  going  from  me — and  where  ?  Oh,  the 
agony  of  that  fearful  hour !  I  tremble  now,  as  I  remember 
how  I  would  have  sought  the  mercy  of  God  for  thee,  and 
dared  not  draw  nigh  to  him.  Thou  wast  going  from  me, — 
nay,  thou  wast  already  g«jne  from  me,  for  my  tears  dropped 
unheeded  upon  thee,  even  as  they  now  drop  upon  this  sense- 
less paper,  and  my  cries  moved  thee  not, — and  I  was  alone 
in  the  universe.  Ah  !  then,  dearest,  I  knew  that  thou  wast 
wrong — pardon  thine  Evtlyn's  boldness.  I  knew  then  that 
there  was  a  spirit  in  man  which  dies  not  with  the  frail  body. 


CHARMS  AND   COUNTER-CHARMS.  319 

I  knew  that  there  was  a  God — Creator,  Father,  Redeemer, 
Purifier — who  reveals  Himself  to  the  simple,  humble  heart, 
but  who  covers  Himself  with  an  impenetrable  veil  from  the 
proud,  self-sufficient  reason  of  His  creatures.  Wilt  thou  be 
angry  with  thy  Evelyn  for  speaking  such  things  to  thee  ?  I 
must  speak  them,  even  though  thou  shouldst  be.  I  cannot 
go  from  thee  without  one  feeble  effort — which  God  in  heaven 
bless — to  win  thee  to  that  faith  from  which  comes  peace 
and  hope.  Into  this  effort  I  throw  my  whole  soul  and  heart 
and  life — and  yet  with  how  little  hope  !  Thou  wilt  ask  me 
for  my  reasons,  and  I  have  none  to  give  thee  ;  but  oh  !  dear- 
est friend,  reject  not  my  plea  for  this.  Thou  canst  not  tell 
the  reason — canst  thou? — why  light  and  heat  follow  the 
sun ;  yet  thou  dost  not  doubt — thou  knowest,  thou  feelest 
them :  and  so  I  know  and  feel  the  spiritual  which  lies  with- 
in me,  and  around  me,  and  above  me.  Oh  that  there 
were  words  which  would  answer  to  my  heart's  desire !  I 
•write  so  feebly,  when  my  heart  is  so  full  of  emotion  stronger 
than  life — strong  as  death  and  the  grave.  Death  and  the 
grave !  how  near  I  came  to  them  with  thee !  for  I  felt  that 
thou  wouldst  not  encounter  them  alone — that  hand  in  hand 
we  would  grapple  with  their  terrors,  and  descend  into  their 
dread,  unfathomable  abyss.  Already  we  stood  upon  its 
verge,  when  a  friendly  hand  uplifted  for  me  the  curtain  that 
veiled  it,  and  light  sprang  up,  and  I  saw  that  by  death  we 
entered  into  life — immortal  life,  in  which  all  good  beings 
saw  and  rejoiced  in  the  love  of  God  that  had  guided  them 
thither ;  and  I  saw  that  over  us,  too,  this  love  had  brooded, 
seeking  evermore  to  win  us  to  that  holiness  which,  with  the 
All-wise,  is  one  with  happiness ;  and  then,  beloved,  there 
came  a  sorrow  upon  me  more  bitter  than  all  that  I  had  yet 
known,  as  my  own  heart  showed  me  that,  without  holiness 
myself,  my  feeble  influence  had  all  been  given  to  chain  thee 
down  to  earth — to  lead  thee  away  from  God,  towards  the 


320  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

dark  and  dreary  gulf  of  hopeless  death.  Thou  wert  near  It, 
oh  !  so  near  it — what  would  I  not  now  have  given  for  one  hour 
of  life  and  reason  for  thee,  that,  unfolding  to  thee  the  glo- 
rious revelations  I  had  received,  I  might  have  won  thee  to 
one  earnest,  imploring  cry  to  Him — the  God-man — the 
Friend  of  the  sinful  and  the  miserable?  And  then  it  was 
that  at  His  feet  I  vowed  that  if  He  would  restore  thee  again 
to  life,  I  would  strive  to  redeem  the  past  by  speaking  to 
thee  the  words  of  truth — by  acting  in  the  spirit  of  truth 
and  purity.  Were  I  careful  only  of  my  own  spirit,  beloved, 
I  might  say  that  our  union  is  to  me  a  holy  one,  for  it  is  to 
me  a  spiritual  union,  a  life  union,  a  union  which  God  hath 
blessed,  and  which  only  God's  hand  can  dissolve ;  but  it  is 
not  so  to  thee,  and  I  may  not,  without  sinning  against  thee 
and  my  own  soul,  give  sanction  or  license  to  the  wrong  in 
thee.  And  now,  beloved,  what  remains  for  me  but  to  say 
that  sad,  sad  word — farewell !  Oh  that  I  might  have  died 
beside  thee  ! — but  hush,  my  heart — have  I  not  committed 
my  way  to  Heavenly  Love  ?  Thy  poor  Evelyn  is  thine — 
thine  ever — but  thine  in  the  holy  bonds  of  marriage." 

Euston  Hastings  read  and  re-read  this  letter,  and  even 
while  its  words  and  sentences  stood  visibly  before  him,  and 
his  hand  grasped  the  paper  on  which  they  were  written,  he 
believed  himself  in  a  dream.  It  was  impossible  !  Evelyn 
leave  him !  propose  herself  to  leave  him ! — she,  the  child 
of  emotion,  of  impulse,  sacrifice  the  one  absorbing  affection 
of  her  soul  to  a  principle,  and  that  principle  brought  from 
the  doubtful,  shadowy  realm  of  spirits ! — it  was  impossible. 
He  "~<mt  to  the  door  of  the  room  which  she  had  occupied 
since  his  illness,  determined  to  speak  with  her,  but  all  was 
still  within,  and  supposing  that  she  slept — poor  Evelyn! 
little  sleep  had  she  that  night — he  returned  to  his  own 
apartment.  "After  all,"  he  said  to  himself,  "simple  and 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  321 

humble  and  loving  as  Evelyn  is,  she  is  but  a  woman,  and 
this  is  probably  only  a  ruse.  She  knows  she  has  become 
very  essential  to  me,  and  she  may  think  that  I  would 
rather  acknowledge  our  marriage  than  part  with  her — this 
is  doubtless  the  true  solution  of  the  affair.  I  will  appear 
to  take  her  at  her  word,  and  make  all  the  arrangements  for 
her  going — she  will  retract  of  her  own  accord." 

Satisfied  with  this  view  of  the  affair,  Euston  Hastings 
slept.  The  next  morning  he  tapped  at  Evelyn's  door,  and 
called  to  her  in  his  usual  tone,  to  come  out,  as  he  passed 
down  stairs.  Evelyn  soon  joined  him  with  a  timid,  doubt- 
ful air,  which  appealed  almost  irresistibly  to  his  heart,  but 
he  steeled  himself  with  the  thought,  "  She  is  anxious  for 
the  effect  of  the  trial  which  she  is  making  upon  me." 

He  drew  her  to  his  side,  pressed  his  lips  to  her  pale 
cheek,  and  said,  "  We  will  talk  after  breakfast,  Eva.  I 
have  a  convalescent's  appetite,  and  you  look  as  if  you  needed 
your  chocolate  this  morning." 

After  breakfast,  he  said,  "Come,  walk  with  me,  Eva," 
and  leading  her  to  the  garden-seat  of  which  we  have 
spoken,  he'  placed  himself  beside  her,  and  exclaimed  ab- 
ruptly, "And  so  you  would  leave  me,  Eva?" 

Evelyn  trembled,  but  could  neither  raise  her  eyes  nor 
utter  a  word. 

"  It  is  very  painful  to  me  to  part  from  you,  Eva."  Tears 
were  already  falling  fast  on  Evelyn's  bosom  as  she  sat  with 
her  head  bowed  in  agony  before  him, — "  But  if  it  be  indeed 
as  you  say,  that  you  cannot  stay  with  me  without  a  pain- 
ful consciousness  of  wrong,  not  only  shall  you  be  free  to 
go,  but  1  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  make  such  arrange- 
ments as  will  ensure  your  travelling  back  to  America  in 
comfort.  When  do  you  desire  to  set  out  ?" 

Evelyn  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  the  words  died  hi 
her  throat.  He  could  not  maintain  his  indifference  of  man- 


422  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


ner.  He  put  hib  arm  around  her,  and  dropping  her  Iioad 
upon  his  shoulder,  she  sobbed  convu.sively.  Whatever 
pity  he  had  for  her,  he  had  not  changed  his  opinion  ot  her 
motives,  and  as  soon  as  her  sobs  were  stilled,  he  said  to  her, 
"  Would  you  like  to  go  as  e^.rly  as  next  week  ?" 

Evelyn  felt  that  a  week  of  such  a  life  would  be  a  longer 
torture  than  she  could  endure,  and  gasped,  "  To-morrow." 

"  To-morrow !  I  fear  that  will  be  impossible  ;  but  I  will 
do  my  best,  and  I  must,  therefore,  leave  you  now — 1  will 
be  back  before  night." 

He  replaced  her  on  the  garden-seat,  and  there  she  re- 
mained *for  long  hours  in  a  conflict  of  spirit,  known  only  to 
the  great  Searcher  of  hearts.  He  returned  late  in  the 
evening.  Evelyn  was  in  her  room.  He  went  to  her  door — 
she  came  to  it  at  his  request,  and  learned  that  he  had  en- 
gaged as  a  travelling  companion  for  her,  a  respectable 
elderly  woman,  highly  recommended  by  persons  whom  he 
knew ;  and  that  to-morrow  he  hoped  to  secure  the  services 
of  a  trusty  courier,  with  whom  he  had  often  travelled  him- 
self. "  By  the  next  day,"  he  added,  "  all  will  be  in  readi- 
ness for  you." 

He  looked  languid. 

"  You  are  fatigued,"  said  Evelyn,  endeavoring  to  com- 
mand her  tears,  "  let  me  make  you  some  of  your  favorite 
jrangeade." 

"  Nay,  Eva,  I  must  accustom  myself  to  do  without  these 
gentle  attentions  now." 

His  voice  was  low  and  sad,  and  Evelyn  turned  back  into 
her  room  to  weep  and  pray. 

The  next  morning  he  went  out  before  she  appeared,  and 
did  not  return  till  after  she  had  retired  to  her  room  in  the 
evening.  He  dreaded  in  truth  to  trust  himself  with  her, 
lest  his  own  resolution  should  give  way,  and  he  should  ao> 
cede  to  her  terms.  He  knocked  at  her  door  in  passing  to 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  323 

his  room,  and  slipping  under  it  a  piece  of  paper,  was  gone 
before  she  could  open  it.  The  paper  contained  but  two 
lines  :  "  All  is  prepared,  Evelyn.  Your  carriage  and  at- 
tendants will  be  in  waiting  at  10  A.  M.,  to-morrow." 

It  was  almost  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  when  Evelyn 
heard  the  step  for  which  she  had  long  been  listening  approach 
her  door,  pause  before  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  pass  on 
without  summoning  her  as  usual.  Trembling  with  agitation, 
Evelyn  rose  and  followed.  Euston  Hastings  received  her 
kindly,  but  gravely ;  and  without  a  word  of  the  separation 
which  was  so  near,  they  sat  down  to  breakfast.  Each 
seemed  busy,  yet  neither  ate.  Euston  Hastings  broke  out 
abruptly  into  talk  about  things  which  interested  neither  of 
them,  and  then  became  as  suddenly  silent.  Evelyn  spoke 
not  a  word.  She  was  occupied  in  vainly  seeking  to  conceal 
the  tears  which  were  constantly  trickling  down  her  cheeks. 
The  carriage  drove  to  the  door.  Evelyn's  trunks  were 
brought  down  stairs  under  the  superintendence  of  her  maid, 
who  being  from  Paris,  had  gladly  consented  to  accompany 
her  to  that  city.  She  brought  in  Evelyn's  bonnet  and. 
shawl,  and  laid  them  on  a  table.  Evelyn  retreated  to  an 
inner  room,  and  threw  herself  upon  her  knees.  When  she 
arose,  Euston  Hastings  was  leaning  against  the  doorway, 
pale  and  agitated.  He  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her — 
"  Evelyn,  will  you  leave  me  ?" 

The  voice  was  broken. 

Evelyn  threw  herself  into  his  arms  in  a  passion  of  tears, 
sobbing  out,  "  I  may  not  sin,  lest  a  worse  thing  come  unto 
thee." 

The  pride  of  Euston  Hastings  rose  to  combat  his  love. 
Without  a  word  he  withdrew  from  her,  and  bringing  her 
shawl  and  bonnet,  assisted  her  to  prepare  for  the  carriage, 
and  offered  his  arm  to  lead  her  to  it.  lJut,  turning  again  to 
him,  Evelyn  raised  her  veil,  and  fixed  her  eyes  long  and 


324  CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

earnestly  upon  his  face ;  then  pressing  his  hand  to  her  heart, 
she  said  with  quivering  lips,  "  Thou  wilt  know  one  day  how 
thy  Evelyn  loves  thee.  Our  Father  in  heaven  bless  thee, 
and  reveal  Himself  unto  thee !  Farewell." 

"  Evelyn,  why  will  you  break  both  our  hearts  ?"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  again  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

Evelyn  did  not  speak — she  could  not ;  but  as  soon  as  he 
released  her,  she  drew  her  veil  closely  around  her,  and 
advanced  to  the  door.  Her  steps  were  feeble  and  tottering  ; 
and  coming  to  her  side,  he  supported  her  to  the  carriage, 
and  assisted  her  to  enter  it.  Ere  he  relinquished  the  hand 
he  held,  he  placed  within  it  a  pocket-book  containing  ample 
means  for  defraying  the  expenses  of  her  journey,  and  writ- 
ten directions  for  the  best  mode  of  pursuing  it.  Evelyn's 
trunks  had  been  fastened  on  the  carriage — the  women  who 
were  to  attend  her  were  already  within  it — the  courier  was 
on  the  box  with  the  coachman.  At  a  sign  from  Euston 
Hastings,  the  latter  flourished  his  whip,  the  horses  started, 
and  the  hearts  which  had  so  lately  throbbed  together  were 
sundered. 

Evelyn  had  come  and  gone.  It  might  have  seemed  a 
dream  that  she  had  been  there,  but  for  the  enduring  evi- 
dences of  her  presence  which  she  had  left.  Euston  Has- 
tings strove  in  vain  to  escape  from  the  haunting  memory  of 
that  presence — delicate  yet  devoted,  humble  yet  full  of 
womanly  self-respect.  And  strange  to  say,  even  while  he 
was  angry  with  her  for  leaving  him,  it  was  in  those  very 
parting  scenes  that  he  found  her  influence  over  him  most 
powerful  and  most  enduring.  He  combated  that  influence 
— he  endeavored  to  destroy  it  by  recalling  to  his  mind  the 
exacting,  undisciplined  Evelyn  of  his  unhappy  married  life ; 
but  the  later  and  happier  impression  had  so  nearly  obliterated 
this,  that  though  detached  features  danced  before  his  vision, 
he  could  not  collect  them  into  a  distinct  portrait.  He  de 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  325 

terrained  to  leave  the  home  with  which  she  was  associated, 
yet  day  after  day  found  him  still  lingering  there.  Of  Flor- 
ence he  no  longer  thought ;  indeed,  every  remembrance  of 
Mrs.  Mabury  was  now  inexpressibly  revolting  to  him,  and  it 
was  with  no  inconsiderable  effort  that  he  wrote  her  a  short 
and  coldly-civil  letter,  mentioning  his  late  illness  as  the  cause 
of  his  delay  in  coming  or  writing.  But  Evelyn's  letter  was 
read  again  and  again,  and  with  feelings  of  far  deeper  inter- 
est now  that  he  saw  there*was  in  it  no  ruse — no  finesse,  but 
the  simple  truth.  At  first  he  sought  in  this  letter  only  the 
expression  of  Evelyn's  feelings  to  him,  but  he  soon  went 
beyond  this ;  he  began  to  study  its  sentiments,  to  endeavor 
to  estimate  truly  the  principles  which  had  separated  them. 
There  was  much  in  these  which  commended  itself  to  his 
reason.  He  could  appreciate  the  beauty  of  an  Intelligent 
Cause  guiding  in  love  His  own  creation,  arranging  all  things 
with  a  view  to  its  ultimate  perfection,  and  establishing  for 
this  laws  which  were  a  transcript  of  His  own  perfect  nature. 
Were  there  indeed  proof  of  this,  the  sanction  which  he  had 
vainly  sought  for  the  law  of  right  would  be  found,  and  the 
self-interest  which  he  had  substituted  in  its  place,  and  which 
had  proved  so  uncertain  a  guide,  would  be  dethroned.  But 
here  the  reason,  which  had  been  perverted  so  long  to  the 
support  of  error,  crowded  a  thousand  infidel  objections  on 
his  mind,  and  he  ended  in  doubt  and  in  dissatisfaction.  Yet 
thought,  travelling  in  a  circle,  still  came  back  to  Evelyn; 
and  that  which  seemed  false  to  him  in  reasoning,  wore  an 
air  of  truth  as  he  recognised  the  strength  of  the  conviction 
which  had  enabled  her  successfully  to  oppose  what  her 
whole  life  had  proved  to  be  the  strongest  feeling,  the  most 
imperious  necessity  of  her  nature.  And  how  noble  had  she 
seemed  in  those  parting  scenes ! — how  free  from  all  selfish- 
ness, from  all  jealous  exactions,  from  all  little  attempts  to 
work  on  his  feelings,  and  thus  force  him  into  rash  conces- 
28 


326  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

sions  to  be  afterwards  perchance  vainly  repented  !  Could  the 
principle  from  which  she  had  derived  such  power  of  self- 
control  be  a  fantasy  ?  If  it  were  not,  what  a  new  aspect 
did  it  give  even  to  the  love  which  it  had  ruled, — spiritualizing 
it,  and  impressing  on  it  the  seal  of  eternity  !  And  was  there 
not  something  in  the  very  pleasure  with  which  his  mind 
welcomed  the  image  of  such  a  love,  that  marked  them  to 
have  been  made  for  each  other  ?  ^ 

Thus  attracted  by  the  noble  and  beautiful  principles 
which  Evelyn  had  illustrated,  and  repelled  by  his  own  per- 
verted reason,  he  might  have  moved  around  Truth  in  a 
circle,  never  approaching  it  more  nearly,  had  not  new  in- 
fluences been  brought  to  bear  upon  his  mind.  Most  of  his 
time  after  Evelyn's  departure  was  spent  abroad — literally 
abroad — and  great  part  of  it  in  the  saddle,  the  only  object 
being  so  to  tire  himself  down  that  he  should  sleep  at  night 
from  very  weariness,  until  the  latter  part  of  September, 
when  violent  storms  kept  him  for  several  days  confined  to 
the  house.  On  one  of  these  days,  he  found  himself  unable  to 
resist  the  desire  which  he  had  often  felt,  to  enter  the  room 
last  inhabited  by  Evelyn.  It  had  not  been  entered  since 
she  left  it,  and  there  was  something  almost  solemn  to  him 
in  its  deserted  air.  A  piece  of  riband  lay  upon  the  floor — 
be  had  seen  her  wear  it,  and  he  raised  it  and  carefully 
wiped  the  dust  from  it.  A  few  books  had  been  apparently 
forgotten  on  a  table,  and  he  approached  to  examine  them. 
One  was  turned  down,  as  if  Evelyn  had  been  reading  in  it 
on  the  morning  of  her  departure.  He  took  it  up — it  was  a 
Bible,  and  the  place  at  which  it  lay  open  was  our  Saviour's 
farewell  to  his  disciples — that  farewell  so  full  of  human 
tenderness  and  divine  repose  which  we  read  in  the  four- 
teenth chapter  of  John.  We  read  this,  perhaps,  with  less 
appreciation  of  its  touching  beauty,  because  it  has  been 
heard  so  often  when  our  hearts  were  not  prepared  to  un- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  327 

derstand  it.  Even  before  it  can  convey  any  intelligent 
meaning  to  our  minds,  the  sounds  have  become  familiar  to 
our  ears  as  an  oft-told  tale, — but  it  was  not  so  with  Euston 
Hastings.  An  orphan  in  early  childhood,  his  fortune  had 
been  carefully  guarded  for  him,  but  none  had  taken  pains 
to  impress  on  his  heart  the  words  of  truth — to  train  his 
spirit  for  Heaven.  The  Bible  had  been  read  in  his  hearing 
at  church,  but  as  he  had  spent  most  of  his  life  in  Papal  coun- 
tries, and  had  not  been  a  very  regular  attendant  on  the 
services  of  the  Christian  Sabbath,  when  he  did  find  him- 
self in  Protestant  lands,  this  had  not  happened  very  fre- 
quently. And  thus  he  had  avowed  his  disbelief  of  the  great 
Author  of  his  being,  without  once  examining  the  only 
record  in  which  He  has  professed  to  reveal  himself  to  his 
creatures.  He  had  sought  God  in  nature,  and  had  found 
a  thousand  contradictions,  to  which,  wanting  the  key  fur- 
nished by  revelation,  his  reason  could  afford  no  solution. 
Now,  this  book,  hitherto  deemed  so  little  worthy  his  atten- 
tion, had  a  new  interest  for  him.  It  was  connected  with 
Evelyn.  It  was  that  in  which  he  might  hope  to  find  the 
foundation  of  those  principles  which  had  governed  her,  and 
which,  even  while  separating  her  from  him,  had  made  her 
more  worthy  of  a  pure  and  noble  affection.  - 

Hour  after  hour  that  day  found  him  enthralled  by  that 
book — that  strange  book,  whose  histories  stretched  back 
beyond  the  dim  ages  of  the  past,  into  a  period  when  time 
was  not — whose  system  of  jurisprudence  stood  perfect  in 
its  most  minute  detail,  impressive  in  its  grand  and  massive 
whole,  when-  the  dominion  of  law  elsewhere  was  unknown — 
and  whose  poetry  had  ascended  to  the  sublimest  heights, 
and  touched  the  tenderest  chords  of  humanity,  when  the 
literature  of  the  rest  of  the  world  was  at  best  a  collection 
of  wild  legends  and  incredible  fables.  But  his  deepest  in- 
terest was  excited  by  the  precepts  of  the  New  Testament, 


328  CHARMS  ANI    COUNTER-CHARMS. 

and  the  wonderful  history  of  love  for  a  fallen  race  which  it 
developed.  With  this  key,  he  could  better  understand,  and 
more  full  appreciate  the  new  principles  of  Evelyn,  and  the 
conduct  to  which  they  had  led. 

Euston  Hastings  went  to  his  pillow  that  night  a  humbler 
man  than  he  had  ever  yet  been.  He  was  not  convinced. 
The  disbelief  of  years  was  not  to  be  overthrown  in  a  day, 
nor  the  heart  which  had  so  obstinately  rebelled  against 
heavenly  goodness,  to  be  blessed  immediately  with  the 
sweet  submission  of  the  child  ;  but  he  began  to  doubt 
whether  his  whole  life  had  not  been  one  grand  error — 
whether  the  simple,  childlike  Evelyn,  had  not  seen  more 
clearly  into  the  great  ends  and  objects  of  existence  than 
he.  The  new  light  thus  cast  upon  life,  gave  a  new  aspect 
to  all  its  relations,  and  to  none  more  than  to  marriage.  If 
man  did  in  truth  possess  a  spiritual  being,  which  was  to  be 
disciplined  here  for  the  experiences  of  a  higher  develop- 
ment and  a  more  enduring  existence,  then  did  there  seem 
an  obvious  propriety  in  his  forming  his  attachments,  not  for 
the  gratification  of  an  hour,  but  for  the  nobler  sympathies 
of  such  a  hope.  Marriage  thus  viewed,  became  spiritual 
and  elevating.  As  he  recalled  the  happiness  of  the  last 
few  weeks  of  his  life  with  Evelyn,  and  contrasted  it  with 
the  experiences  of  their  earlier  connection,  he  asked  himself 
whether  this  difference  was  not  the  result  of  the  purer  sen- 
timent which  her  later  developments  of  character  had  ex- 
cited— a  sentiment  which  he  now  believed  might  well  have 
withstood  those  chances  and  changes  which  he  had  foimerlj 
argued  to  be  necessarily  destructive  to  the  continuance  of 
happiness  in  married  life.  He  was  almost  ready  to  admit 
that  if  these  new  views  were  correct,  marriage  might  be- 
come, through  its  strong  sympathies,  its  cordial  and  wide- 
spreading  affections,  and  its  claims  for  mutual  forbearance, 
one  mean  by  which  the  soul  might  be  perfected  for  a  higher 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  329 

condition,  and  thus  regarded,  it  lost  that  aspect  of  control 
over  the  free  will  which  had  always  formed  his  most  de- 
cided objection  to  it. 

How  far  these  intellectual  conclusions  were  aided  by  his 
heart's  desire  to  win  back  the  lost  Evelyn,  we  know  not,  but 
the  result  of  them  was,  that  he  determined  to  follow  as  rap- 
idly as  possible  on  the  route  which  he  had  prescribed  for 
her. 

28* 


330  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTEE  XIX.      -'* 

"  In  the  hour  of  sorrow, 

As  in  the  darkness  drear, 

To  Heaven  intrust  the  morrow, 

The  angels  then  are  near." 

THE  one  great  effort  made — the  sacrifice  laid  upon  the 
altar — and  Evelyn  sank  beneath  the  conflict  which  she  had 
so  long  and  so  nobly  sustained.  The  beauty  had  departed 
from  the  earth,  and  her  eyes  turned  languidly  towards  the 
distant  heaven — so  distant,  and  to  be  reached  only  by  pass- 
ing through  such  long  and  dreary  years  of  life. 

Such  were  her  impressions,  yet  she  faltered  not  in  her 
course.  While  she  shrank  from  the  bitter  cup,  she  still 
clasped  the  Divine  hand  which  presented  it.  More  than 
once  during  the  early  days  of  their  travel,  while  return  yet 
seemed  practicable,  her  attendants,  terrified  at  the  rapidity 
with  which  her  strength  gave  way,  proposed  her  returning ; 
but  her  cry  was  still,  "  On — on — faster — faster." 

Ere  she  arrived  at  Paris,  she  had  to  be  lifted  to  and  from 
her  carriage,  and  when  she  entered  the  Hotel  de  Londres, 
to  which  Euston  Hastings  had  directed  her  in  that  city,  all 
who  saw  her  believed  that  she  entered  it  to  die.  It  was  to 
her  not  an  unpleasing  thought.  Once  more  she  felt  herself 
encircled  by  the  Divine  Love  ;  and  tears,  not  of  regret,  stole 
from  beneath  her  closed  eyelids,  as  too  weak  to  speak  or 
move,  almost  too  weak  to  think,  she  lay,  conscious  of  but 
one  feeling — a  tranquil  satisfaction  at  the  conviction  that  for 
her  the  conflict  and  the  weariness  of  life  would  soon  cease. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARM8.  331 

Yet  there  were  moments  when,  as  the  fever-stricken  longs 
for  a  draught  from  the  bubbling  spring  at  which  he  drank 
in  health,  she  longed  for  the  voices  of  her  home — for  the 
names  syllabled  only  by  love — "  My  child  ! — my  Eva  !" 
Sometimes,  in  a  dream,  she  was  once  more  within  the  accus- 
tomed halls,  and  caught  the  familiar  sounds  of  home,  or 
she  stood  at  the  river's  brink,  and  heard  the  dashing  of  its 
waves  against  the  rocky  shore  and  the  whispering  of  the 
leaves  amid  the  grove  upon  its  banks,  and  she  woke  with 
some  joyous  song  upon  her  lips,  which  she  had  not  sung  for 
years,  to  weep  at  the  new  sense  of  desolation  which  would 
then  oppress  her.  And  was  there  no  memory  of  the  later 
and  more  passionate  emotions  into  which  her  life  had  poured 
itself — no  intense  desire  that  he  might  stand  beside  her  in 
her  death-hour  ?  This,  too,  came  on  her  at  times  with  a  rush 
which  threatened  to  snap  the  frail  thread  of  her  life ;  but 
with  all  the  little  power  left  her,  she  struggled  and  prayed 
against  such  thoughts,  for  in  them  lay  sin  and  madness  and 
despair. 

Ten  days — a  fortnight  passed  away.  The  courier,  who 
had  only  been  engaged  to  accompany  Evelyn  to  Paris,  was 
gone,  but  still  the  good  woman,  who  had  been  her  faithful 
travelling-corn  panic  n,  refusing  to  leave  her,  watched,  with 
alternate  emotions  of  hope  and  fear,  beside  her  couch.  But 
fear  at  length  grew  strongest.  She  began  to  ask  herself 
•what  should  she  do  if  this  young  creature  died  thus  far  from 
home  and  friends,  with  none  to  whom  she  could  apply  for 
information  respecting  her,  or  directions  for  the  disposal  of 
her  property.  Evelyn,  as  she  felt  her  illness  increasing,  had 
placed  in  the  hands  of  this  woman  an  order*  from  Euston 
Hastings  on  his  banker  in  Paris,  bidding  her  present  it  if 
more  money  was  needed  than  that  with  which  she  had 
already  intrusted  her.  The  money  was  not  needed;  but 
sho  letermined  to  go  to  this  gentleman,  with  the  hope  that 


332  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

he  might  have  some  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Beresford — this 
was  the  name  by  which  Evelyn  was  known  to  her — or  of 
her  friends.  He  knew  nothing  of  Mrs.  Beresford  ;  but  a 
Mr.  Beresford  had  within  a  few  days  presented  a  draft  upon 
him,  and  had  inquired  if  he  could  tell  him  where  Mr.  Has- 
tings was  at  present.  This  Mr.  Beresford  was  at  the  Hotel 
de  France — he  had  sent  a  letter  to  him  there,  to-day. 
Thither  the  good  woman  proceeded ;  and  having  been  ad- 
mitted to  Mr.  Beresford's  presence,  told  her  tale  of  sorrow 
and  fear  to  him  and  Mary  Raymond  and  Mr.  Manelli.  Mr. 
Beresford's  energies  seemed  all  restored  as  he  listened. 
Much  that  he  heard  was  inexplicable  to  him.  What  could 
have  induced  Evelyn  voluntarily  to  part  from  the  husband 
she  had  found,  and  who  had,  according  to  this  woman's 
statement,  suffered  her  to  go  with  evident  reluctance? — 
above  all,  why  should  she  have  resumed  her  family  name? 
All  this  was  mystery.  But  one  thing  was  plain — she  was 
ill  and  friendless — she,  his  tenderly-nurtured  Evelyn.  All 
the  influence  which  Mary  and  Mr.  Manelli  could  exert  over 
him  was  necessary,  in  conjunction  with  the  representations  of 
the  woman,  who,  having  been  Evelyn's  nurse,  best  knew  her 
condition,  to  induce  him  to  control  the  impulse  which  would 
have  sent  him  immediately  to  the  bedside  of  his  child.  He 
consented,  at  their  earnest  solicitation,  to  consult  the  physician 
whose  visits  Evelyn  had  for  the  last  few  days  permitted  at 
the  entreaty  of  her  attendants.  This  gentleman  declared 
that,  in  Mrs.  Beresford's  present  condition,  he  could  not  be 
answerable  for  the  effects  of  any  agitation  upon  her.  He 
proposed  that  at  first  she  should  only  be  informed  of  the 
arrival  of  her  friend,  Miss  Raymond.  When  this  had  been 
cautiously  communicated,  Mary  might  see  her  and  remain 
With  her,  and  by  her  she  might  be  gradually  prepared  for 
the  interview  with  her  father.  Mr.  Beresford  removed  im- 
mediately to  the  Hotel  de  Londres,  and  in  an  hour  Mary 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  333 

was  with  her  friend,  who,  too  weak  to  question,  received 
quietly  and  scarcely  with  surprise,  her  explanation,  that 
travelling  in  Europe  with  a  friend,  she  had  heard  of  her 
illness,  and  was  there  to  nurse  her,  as  she  hoped,  into  per- 
fect health.  Of  her  father  Mary  ventured  not  to  speak,  and 
Evelyn  asked  not,  but  soothed  by  accustomed  tones  and 
gentle  endearments,  sank  to  sleep.  For  some  days  Mr. 
Beresford  saw  her  only  in  her  sleep ;  but  one  day,  as  he 
stood  gazing  on  her  with  all  a  father's  fondness  in  his  face, 
she  suddenly  unclosed  her  eyes.  She  looked  bewildered  for  a 
moment ;  then,  as  if  awaking  perfectly,  a  smile  rested  on  her 
features,  and  holding  out  her  arms,  she  said,  "  Father !" 

She  was  too  feeble  even  to  feel  strongly.  It  was  he 
whose  bosom  heaved  with  irrepressible  sobs  as  he  kissed 
her  pale  lips,  and  laid  his  hand  in  blessing  on  the  golden 
ringlets,  which  were  all  of  his  beautiful  Evelyn  that  disease 
and  sorrow  had  left  untouched. 

From  this  time  Evelyn  began  to  amend  steadily,  though 
slowly.  In  a  fortnight  she  could  bear  to  be  removed  from 
her  bed  to  a  couch  in  an  adjoining  apartment,  where  she 
spent  the  day.  Her  father  was  seldom  absent  from  her 
side,  yet  no  question  was  asked  of  the  past — no  explana- 
tion given  of  the  present.  She  was  still  addressed  by  her 
attendants  as  Mrs.  Beresford — a  title  which  always  brought 
the  color  into  her  pale  cheek,  and  sent  an  indignant  flush 
to  Mr.  Beresford's  brow.  The  explanation  which  be  feared 
to  ask,  his  imagination  had  been  busy  in  supplying  In  his 
conjectures,  Evelyn  was  blameless,  and  Euston  Hastings  at 
once  licentious  and  cruel;  his  seeming  affection  and  re- 
luctance to  part  with  her,  only  the  hypocrisy  which  gen- 
erally at  ;ompanies  vice. 

Evelyn  had  just  withdrawn  to  her  room  one  evening 
leaning  on  Mary's  arm.  Her  father  still  stood  where  he 
had  bidden  h*r  good-night,  and  the  door  between  them 


334  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS 

was  not  yet  closed,  when  a  servant  opened  an  opposite 
door  leading  from  the  outer  room  to  the  landing-place, 
and  said,  "  Is  Mrs.  Beresford  here  ? — a  gentleman  wishes  to 
see  her." 

As  Mr.  Beresford  turned  towards  the  man,  he  saw  be- 
yond him  a  form  whose  haughty,  erect  carriage,  he  rec- 
ognised even  in  that  dim  light.  His  brain  tightened,  his 
blood  boiled  through  his  veins,  as  he  became  assured  that 
he  stood  in  the  presence  of  him  who  had  been  well-nigh 
the  destroyer  of  his  child.  His  voice  trembled  with  pas- 
sion as  he  replied,  "I  know  no  such  person  as  Mrs.  Beres- 
ford." 

Putting  the  waiter  back,  Euston  Hastings  advanced  into 
the  room,  closed  the  door  after  him,  and  uncovering  his 
head,  said  firmly,  though  not  disrespectfully,  "  It  is  I, 
Mr.  Beresford.  I  would  speak  to  my  wife — to  Mrs.  Has- 
tings." 

"  You  shall  never  see  her  again,  so  help  me  Heaven !" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Beresford,  as  he  stepped  between  him  and 
the  door  of  Evelyn's  room, — but  ere  the  words  had  left  his 
lips,  a  faint  cry  was  heard,  and  rushing  by  him  Evelyn 
cast  herself  into  the  extended  arms  of  her  husband.  Mr. 
Beresford  would  have  torn  her  thence,  but  while  he  clasped 
her  to  him  with  one  arm,  Euston  Hastings  guarded  her 
from  him  with  the  other,  saying,  "  Touch  her  not,  Mr. 
Beresford,  she  is  mine  by  every  law  divine  and  human." 

"  Dare  you  plead  the  sacredness  of  laws  on  which  you 
Lave  trampled  ?" 

1 1  plead  them  against  the  interference  of  any  other,  but 
not  against  Evelyn's  will, — she  is  free  to  throw  off  the 
bond  which  I  have  broken,  if  she  will.  Evelyn,  answer 
for  yourself." 

He  looked  down  to  claim  her  award.  A  change  passed 
over  Ms  face. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


"  Evf  lyn !"  he  cried  in  wild  and  startling  tones — "  Eve 
lyn  I- — I'j  she  dead  ?"  he  asked  almost  in  a  whisper,  ap- 
pearing by  his  looks  first  to  Mr.  Beresford,  and  then  to  Mary 
Rc-ymond,  who  now  approached. 

"  If  f  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Beresford,  "  you  have  killed  her, 
and  may  the  curse — " 

"  Hush  !  hush !"  exclaimed  Mary,  "  such  words  would 
indeed  kill  her  could  she  hear  them.  Bring  her  in  this 
room,  Mr.  Hastings,  and  lay  her  down — she  has  only  fainted, 
and  will  soon  recover,  I  hope." 

Il  was  not  wonderful  that  Euston  Hastings  had  supposed 
her  dead,  and  as  minutes,  which  under  such  circumstances 
seemed  hours,  passed  away,  and  no  color  revisited  the  marble 
cheek,  and  the  parted  lips  remained  white  as  the  glistening 
teeth  which  were  just  seen  through  them,  every  heart  grew 
chill  with  the  same  fear.  Passion  could  not  live,  or  at  least 
could  not  speak  in  such  a  presence ;  and  as  Mary  glanced 
at  Eustou  Hastings,  who  stood  with  folded  arms,  sternly 
knit  brows,  and  face  almost  as  pallid  as  that  of  Evelyn  her- 
self, gazing  on  the  ruin  he  had  wrought,  she  thought  that 
even  Mr.  Beresford,  if  his  heart  could  admit  any  feeling 
but  terror,  must  pity  him.  Mary  wished  them  both  to  re- 
move from  the  room,  but  neither  of  them  could  be  in- 
duced to  do  so,  and  when  Evelyn  at  length  unclosed  her 
evtrf,  they  stood  on  each  side  of  her.  Again  her  eyelids 
fell,  but  a  smile  rested  on  her  lips.  Once  more  she  looked 
on  them,  and  now  she  moved  a  hand  towards  each.  It 
was  eagerly  seized,  and  tremblingly,  feebly,  she  brought 
her  bands  near,  and  clasped  in  one  embrace  those  she  held. 
Ta^y  could  not  resist  her  then,  and  holding  them  thus,  she 
feu  asleep. 


336  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Flattering  sin  begins  to  dawn 


From  man's  false  lips  and  woman's  eyes, 
And  hopes  and  hearts  are  racked  and  torn 
In  God's  green  earthly  Paradise." 

BARRY  CORNWALL. 

EVELYN  lay  for  many  days  in  a  state  of  half  conscious- 
ness, or  as  it  seemed  to  her  in  a  delightful  dream,  in  which 
the  dimly-seen  forms  of  those  she  loved  most  dearly,  were 
ever  hovering  around  her  couch,  or  bending  tenderly  above 
her.  She  awoke  to  a  new  life,  a  life  no  longer  made  up  of 
many  impulses,  but  pervaded  by  one  grand  principle, 
through  which  all  its  parts  were  brought  into  beautiful 
harmony.  Euston  Hastings  had  said  truly  of  her  past 
life,  that  all  its  seeming  self-sacrifice  was  but  a  refined 
selfishness.  Her  vision  had  been  heretofore  bounded  to 
earth ;  and  the  one  absorbing,  passionate  desire  of  her  heart, 
had  been  for  love — human  love.  But  her  eyes  had  been 
opened  to  behold  that  spiritual  world  which  everywhere 
surrounds  us ;  she  had  seen  the  Divine  love  encircling  the 
soul,  and  blessing  it,  even  amid  the  utter  desolation  of  its 
earthly  hopes ;  and  now  trusting  to  that  love,  humbly  sub- 
mitting her  earthly  destiny  to  its  award,  her  acts  of  de- 
votedness  were  no  longer  the  labors  of  a  hireling,  watchful 
to  secure  his  reward,  but  were  the  free,  spontaneous,  grace- 
ful movements  of  gentle  and  generous  and  pure  affections. 
Yet  think  not  that  thenceforward  no  cloud  was  to  rest 
upon  her  life — dream  not  that  to-day  thou  mayst  yield  to 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARM3.  337 

the  sway  of  passion,  and  that  to-morrow,  if  thou  throw  off 
its  yoke,  the  past  shall  be  to  thee  as  though  it  had  never 
been.  The  evil  thou  hast  done  has  borne,  or  will  bear 
bitter  fruit,  of  which  thou  must  eat,  it  may  be  while  thy 
life  endures.  Evelyn  could  not  forget  the  abandonment  to 
every  wild  impulse  or  selfish  desire  which  had  marked  her 
past  career,  while  she  felt  their  effects  in  her  own  exhausted 
energies,  saw  them  in  her  father's  snowy  head  and  bowed 
form,  or  trembled  for  them  in  the  conduct  of  him  to  whom 
she  had  indissolubly  linked  her  every  earthly  hope. 

Evelyn's  first  apprehension  of  collision  between  her  hus- 
band and  her  father  was  soon  relieved.  Mr.  Beresford's 
nature  was  kindly  and  gentle,  and  if  he  could  not  feel  very 
cordially  to  Euston  Hastings,  he  was  willing,  when  the  first 
effervescence  of  passion  had  exhausted  itself,  to  restrain 
every  offensive  demonstration  for  his  child's  sake.  And 
Euston  Hastings,  as  he  saw  Evelyn's  eyes  turn  anxiously 
from  one  to  the  other,  had  whispered  her,  "  Do  not  fear, 
Eva.  You  will  not  doubt  my  self-command,  and  I  feel  that 
I  owe  your  father  much  forbearance,  for  I  have  caused  him 
much  suffering." 

It  was  a  blight,  though  cold  day  in  December,  when 
Evelyn,  wrapped  in  furs,  ventured  forth  for  the  first  time 
after  her  long  illness.  It  was  the  Sabbath.  Not  such  a  quiet, 
peaceful  Sabbath  as  is  known  in  England  or  in  our  own 
land.  Trade  plied  its  busy  thrift — many  shops  were  open, 
and  the  clang  of  labor  sounded  almost  as  loudly  as  on  other 
days. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  the  Sabbath  ?"  asked  Evelyn,  sur- 
prised by  the  appearance  of  all  around  her. 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  Euston  Hastings,  with  a  smile. 
"  You  forget,  Evelyn,  that  the  Sabbath  was  a  Jewish  insti- 
tution ;  this  is  Sunday." 

"  I  know  it,  but  I  love  that  word,  the  Sabbath — it  seem* 
29 


338  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

to  me  to  express  all  which  is  peaceful,  still.  It  has,  I  ac- 
knowledge, however,  no  application  here — is  it  always  so?" 

"Yes — this  a  country  of  entire  toleration.  Those  of 
every  faith  or  of  no  faith,  may  alike  find  a  home  here." 

"  Is  the  deep  religious  reverence  which  would  hold  this 
day  hallowed,  incompatible  with  toleration  ?"  inquired  Eve- 
lyn, timidly. 

"  Not  exactly  incompatible,  perhaps — but  the  earnest 
feeling  which  the  one  presupposes,  would  scarce  permit  the 
existence  of  the  other  except  in  an  angelic  mind." 

It  was  after  several  minutes  of  silent  thought  that  Evelyn 
rejoined,  "  They  do  not  seem  to  me  necessarily  opposed." 

Euston  Hastings  turned  to  her  in  some  surprise  at  the 
observation,  but  after  gazing  a  moment  at  her  grave  and 
downcast  face,  he  said,  "  Perhaps  not ;  for  you,  Eva,  are,  I 
verily  believe,  capable  of  exercising  both." 

He  felt,  at  least,  as  he  heard  her  low  response  that  day, 
and  marked  the  tears  that  fell  unbidden  from  her  eyes 
while  she  knelt  beside  him,  that  her  religious  faith  was 
earnest  and  reverent.  Her  worship  that  day,  was  a  thank- 
offering  to  Him  who  "  had  led  her  by  a  way  she  knew  not 
of,"  to  the  fruition  of  her  fondest  hopes.  For  had  it  not 
been  for  a  vague  terror  which  sometimes  made  her  shrink 
from  the  future,  because  she  doubted  whether  it  were  pos- 
sible for  happiness  so  perfect  to  endure,  there  would  have 
been  no  shadow  now  on  the  brightness  of  Evelyn's  life. 
On  this  day,  especially,  all  was  quiet  in  her  heart — no  voice 
of  warning  made  discord  with  its  melodies,  for  as  her  hus- 
band worshipped  beside  her,  it  seemed  as  if  the  blessing  of 
Heaven  had  been  breathed  upon  them  both. 

1  Come,  Eva,"  said  Euston  Hastings  the  next  day,  "  you 
are  well  enough  now  to  see  some  of  the  wonders  of  this 
famous  city.  Suppose  we  spend  this  morning  at  the 
Louvre." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  339 

This  was  a  proposition  too  pleasing  to  be  rejected  ;  and 
with  all  the  light-heartedness  of  former  days,  Evelyn  pre- 
pared to  accompany  him.  And  what  hours  of  delight  await- 
ed  her  in  that  splendid  gallery,  surrounded  by  the  noblest 
monuments  of  art,  and  with  so  eloquent  an  interpreter  of 
art  at  her  side,  who  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  but  her 
and  the  new  world  he  was  opening  to  her  !  She  was  stand- 
ing before  a  superb  landscape,  on  which  her  eyes  and 
thoughts  were  riveted,  while  he  was  no  less  absorbed  in 
observing  the  varied  expression  called  up  in  her  face  by  his 
own  word-painting,  when  a  voice  near  them  caused  them 
both  to  start.  It  was  but  a  cold  and  careless  sentence  ut- 
tered by  that  voice,  and  uttered  not  to  them,  yet  it  sent  a 
chill  to  Evelyn's  heart.  She  glanced  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  sound  came,  and  met  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Mabury. 
She  was  prepared  for  the  encounter,  for  she  had  seen  them 
from  a  distance ;  and  having  quelled  the  agitation  the  sight 
had  first  occasioned  her,  had  purposely  approached  and 
spoken  to  attract  their  attention.  She  therefore  stood  un- 
moved, with  something  of  triumph  lighting  her  dark  eye, 
while  Evelyn  grew  pale,  and  trembled  like  an  aspen-leaf, 
and  the  blood  rushed  in  an  impetuous  torrent  through  the 
veins  of  Euston  Hastings.  Scarcely,  however,  could  any 
emotion  have  been  marked  in  him  ere  it  was  mastered,  at 
least  in  its  external  signs.  He  bowed  silently,  but  with  a 
cordial  smile  to  Mrs.  Mabury,  while  leading  Evelyn  to  an- 
other room,  where  he  seated  her  and  brought  her  a  glass  of 
water.  As  he  saw  the  color  returning  to  her  cheek,  he  said, 
"  I  must  leave  you  for  a  few  moments,  Evelyn.  Do  not  look 
so  frightened — I  will  return  immediately."  He  was  turning 
away ;  but  a  sudden  emotion  of  scorn  at  himself  for  hesi- 
tating to  avow  his  object,  made  him  address  her  again, 
saying  with  some  abruptness,  "  I  must  see  Mrs.  Mabury 
and  ascertain  where  she  is  residing." 


840         CHARMS  AND  COUNTER- CHARMS. 

He  was  gone  the  next  moment,  and  Evelyn  sat  as  in  a 
sort  of  nightmare,  feeling  that  she  must  passively  await  the 
next  turn  of  fate — that  she  must  be  still,  though  dreading 
that  another  might  even  now  be  unknitting  all  those  gentle 
bonds  by  which  she  had  hoped  to  b.nd  him,  not  onfy  to 
herself,  but  to  a  pure  faith  and  a  holy  life.  It  was  but  a 
few  minutes — it  seemed  to  her  an  hour — ere  he  came  again. 
He  met  Evelyn's  glance  of  inquiry  with  a  smile,  and  said, 
"  You  seem  better  now.  Shall  we  resume  our  examination 
of  the  gallery  ?  or  have  you  seen  enough  for  one  day  ?" 

"  I  think  we  will  return  home  for  the  present,"  replied 
Evelyn.  "  I  must  not  exhaust  my  pleasures  too  rapidly, 
lest  they  exhaust  me." 

She  rose ;  and  folding  her  cloak  carefully  around  her,  he 
drew  her  arm  through  his. 

As  they  drove  home,  but  few  words  were  spoken  by 
either,  and  when  Evelyn  glanced  at  her  companion,  she 
found  his  face  grave  and  thoughtful,  though  not  stern.  For 
herself,  she  felt  that  a  cloud  had  obscured  her  sun  at  its 
glorious  noon.  She  trembled  for  the  future,  and  yet  she 
knew  not  why ;  for  the  fact  of  her  having  found  Euston 
Hastings  alone  in  Rome,  and  of  his  having  never  seen  Mrs. 
Mabury  since,  seemed  unequivocally  to  refute  any  sus- 
picion she  might  have  entertained  before  that  time  of  an 
unavowed  connection  between  them.  It  was  a  suspicion 
which  Evelyn  had  never  confessed ;  yet  it  could  scarcely 
have  failed  to  arise  in  her  mind  under  all  the  circumstances, 
and  it  probably  aided  in  no  small  degree  to  produce  that 
feverish  irritability  of  mind  under  which  she  yielded  to  the 
suggestions  of  Dixon,  that  his  master's  route  might  easily 
be  traced  abroad  by  one  acquainted  with  his  habits  of  trav- 
elling. Setting  such  a  suspicion  wholly  aside,  however, 
there  was  enough  in  the  fact,  that  Evelyn  had  ever  found 
Mrs.  Mabury 's  presence  fatal  to  her  happiness  since  her 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  341 

marriage,  to  render  the  event  of  the  morning  suggestive  of 
painful  anticipations.  And  did  not  coming  sorrows  already 
3ast  their  shadows  on  her  husband's  brow  ?  Yet  how  ten- 
derly did  he  lift  her  from  the  carriage  now  !  How  anxiously 
did  he  watch  her  pale  cheek  and  saddened  eye,  till  the  wine 
he  made  her  swallow,  or  more  probably  his  own  gentle 
attentions,  had  recalled  color  to  the  one  and  life  to  the 
other! 

Hours  passed  away,  as  hours  often  passed  now  with  Ev- 
elyn, peacefully  and  pleasantly,  enlivened  by  humorous 
anecdotes,  interesting  narrative,  or  lively  description,  from  a 
mind  of  never-failing  resources  ;  but  as  the  daylight  waned, 
the  spiiits  of  Euston  Hastings  appeared  to  wane  with  it — 
he  grew  silent,  abstracted,  and  restless.  Evelyn  observed, 
too,  that  he  often  consulted  his  watch. 

"  What  o'clock  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  not  from  any  curiosity 
on  the  subject,  but  that  she  might  break  the  silent  musing 
which  began  to  annoy  her. 

"  Seven,"  he  replied,  "  and  in  half  an  hour  I  must  leave 
you  for  an  hour  or  two." 

Evelyn  said  nothing.  The  minutes  passed  slowly,  silent- 
ly,— another  look  at  his  watch,  and  then  Euston  Hastings 
rose,  put  on  his  cloak,  and  stood,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
leaning  against  the  mantel  piece  opposite  to  her,  as  if  loth 
to  part  without  some  communication  which  he  yet  found  it 
difficult  to  make. 

"  You  will  not  sit  up  for  me,  Evelyn,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  I  may  be  detained  to  a  later  hour  than  I  anticipate." 

"  No — oh  no !"  exclaimed  Evelyn,  quickly,  as  those 
words  brought  rushing  on  her  the  memory  of  the  unhappy 
past. 

"  Shall  I  tell  Miss  Raymond  and  your  father  that  you 
will  be  glad  to  see  them  here  ?" 

"  If  you  please." 

29* 


342  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Still  he  lingered.  At  length,  as  if  with  a  sudden  effort, 
he  stooped  and  pressing  his  lips  to  her  cheek,  said,  "  Good 
night !  you  will  be  asleep,  1  hope,  when  I  return." 

The  hand  he  touched  was  cold,  yet  its  fingers  clasped 
his,  the  eves  which  were  lifted  to  his  were  heavy,  yet  they 
smiled  on  him.  He  advanced  to  the  door,  laid  his  hand 
on  the  lock,  yet  looked  back  once  again ;  those  eyes  were 
still  fastened  on  him.  He  returned — and  bending  over 
her,  said  in  low,  deep  tones,  "  Evelyn,  can  you  not  trust 

"Can  you  trust  yourself?"  rose  from  Evelyn's  heart  to 
her  lips,  and  for  once,  with  a  force  that  no  timidity  could 
restrain, — the  words  were  spoken. 

A  quick,  firm,  full-toned  "  Entirely,"  answered  them  to 
her  ear  and  to  her  heart. 

The  hand  was  already  waimer  which  she  placed  in  his, 
the  eyes  brighter  which  met  his  gaze  as  she  said,  "  Then 
can  I  trust  you  too.  Good-night — I  shall  now  certainly 
sleep  before  you  return." 

A  cabriolet  was  in  waiting  for  Euston  Hastings,  but  he 
felt  the  need  of  time  to  arrange  his  thoughts,  and  of  fresh 
air  and  exercise  to  compose  and  invigorate  them  ere  he 
ventured  on  the  approaching  interview,  and  he  dismissed  it, 
and  walked  forward  slowly  and  musingly  till  the  sound  of 
a  church  clock  striking  eight  made  him  hasten  his  steps. 
At  a  quarter  after  eight  he  was  at  the  entrance  of  the  hotel 
in  which  Mrs.  Mabury  now  resided.  Seldom  had  that  bold 
heart  beaten  with  a  feeling  so  akin  to  fear,  as  at  the  soft 
"Entrez"  that  succeeded  his  application  at  her  door.  As 
he  entered,  Mrs.  Mabury  rose  to  meet  him.  Never  had  her 
beauty  appeared  more  striking.  Her  dress  was  of  claret- 
colored  velvet,  with  a  close  corsage  and  tight  sleeve,  show- 
ing her  splendid  form  to  the  utmost  advantage.  The  dress 
rose  high  in  the  back,  but  was  open  at  the  throat  and  below 


CIIARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  343 

it,  displaying  the  exquisite  bust  just  veiled  by  a  rich  lace. 
Her  black  hair  was  disposed  in  heavy  braids  around  her 
face  and  head.  There  was  an  unusual  flush  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  a  feverish  brilliancy  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  have  come  at  last,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand 
to  Euston  Hastings. 

He  received  it  with  a  friendly  pressure,  but  quickly  re- 
linquishing it,  drew  a  chair  for  himself  opposite  the  couch 
on  which  she  had  been  seated. 

"  And  now,  Estelle,  what  have  you  done  with  the  Mar- 
chese  di  S ?"  he  asked. 

"  Nay,"  she  exclaimed,  with  an  affectation  of  gayety  less 
successful  than  her  affectations  often  were,  "  do  not  fancy 
that  you  can  thus  practise  on  me  my  own  tactics,  of  carry- 
ing the  war  into  the  enemy's  country.  First  tell  me  what 
you  have  done  with  yourself  since  we  parted  in  Rome,  and 
how  you  came  to  be  accompanied  as  I  saw  you  were  this 
morning  at  the  Louvre  ?" 

Euston  Hastings  saw  that  the  dreaded  scene  could  not 
be  avoided,  and  he  resolved  to  face  the  danger  boldly.  It 
had  ever  been  his  motto  that  resolution  is  victory. 

"  To  answer  one  of  your  questions,  Estelle,  is  to  answer 
both ;  for  Evelyn  has  been  with  me  almost  ever  since  you 
left  me  in  Rome." 

"  Perhaps  you  expected  her  there  when  you  declined  ac- 
companying me  to  Florence,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  of 
suspicion. 

"  A  moment's  reflection  will  show  you  that  such  a  sup- 
position is,  to  say  the  least,  extremely  improbable.  I  assure 
you,  you  could  not  have  been  more  surprised  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  Evelyn  than  I  was." 

"How  did  she  find  you?" 

"  She  was  attended  by  Dixon,  who  has  travelled  so  much 
with  me  that  he  was  as  good  a  courier  as  she  could  have, 


344  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

and  who  knew  my  habits  so  well  that  he  could  trace  me 
without  difficulty  to  any  part  of  Europe." 

"  It  was  a  bold  undertaking  for  one  who  always  seemed 
so  timid." 

"A  sufficiently  powerful  motive  will  elevate  the  most 
timid  above  personal  fear.  My  poor  Eva,  I  verily  believe, 
dreaded  nothing  in  all  her  journey  so  much  as  that  inter- 
view with  me  which  was  its  object." 

"  Your  poor  Eva" — here  a  smile  full  of  scorn  curled 
Mrs.  Mabury's  lip — "seems  to  have  played  her  part  re- 
markably well." 

"  She  has,  for  it  required  no  art — it  was  all  the  perfect 
work  of  nature." 

"  And  what  was  it  when  you  left  America,  feeling  that 
only  in  absence  from  her  was  there  freedom  for  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Mabury's  eyes  flashed. 

"  Estelle,"  said  Euston  Hastings,  "  there  is  perchance 
much  to  condemn  as  well  as  much  to  regret  in  the  past. 
Let  us  bury  it  and  forget  it."  ' 

"  Bury  and  forget !"  she  repeated,  in  a  voice  of  inde- 
scribable melancholy.  "  To  forget  would  be,  with  me,  the 
only  bitterness  in  death,  for  memory  comprises  all  for  which 
I  live." 

"  Say  not  so,  Estelle,"  said  Euston  Hastings,  touched  by 
these  expressions  of  sadness  from  one  usually  too  proud  to 
complain;  "you  are  still  young — the  best  part  of  life  may 
be  yet  before  you." 

"  The  best  part  of  my  life  had  passed  before  I  met  you. 
It  passed  in  my  home — my  mother's  home,  and  at  her  side 
— Oh,  for  the  quiet  affections — the  simple  faith  of  those 
days !" 

"  And  even  those  affections  and  this  faith  may  be  yours 
again,  Estelle." 

"Never — never — and  do  you  know  who  divorced   me 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  345 

from  them  ?"  She  paused  for  a  moment,  but  Euston  Has- 
tings did  not  speak,  and  she  resumed. 

"  It  was  you.  When  I  met  you  in  this  very  city  seven 
years  ago,  I  might  have  been  vain  and  frivolous  and 
thoughtless,  but  there  still  lingered  in  my  heart  the  mem- 
ories of  a  purer  past — the  hope  of  a  brighter  future.  Your 
cold  sneer  withered  them.  You  took  away  all  charm  from 
the  past — you  obliterated  the  future,  and  left  me  nothing 
but  the  present — and  now,  with  the  same  cold  heart  and 
unshrinking  hand,  you  cut  from  me  my  last  hold  on  life !" 

She  had  spoken  rapidly,  and  now  paused  as  if  from 
having  exhausted  her  breath,  rather  than  her  subject. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  Estelle,"  said  Euston  Hastings. 

"  You  do  not  understand  me  !"  she  repeated ;  "  You  do 
not  know,  perhaps,  that  the  infidelity  which  you  took  such 
care  to  infuse  into  my  mind,  destroyed  that  faith  which  was 
the  soul  of  the  past,  and  from  which  I  drew  my  only  hope 
for  the  future :  you  do  not  know  that  now  you  are  taking 
from  me  all  I  value  in  the  present." 

"  You  are  becoming  more  and  more  incomprehensible, 
Estelle,  and  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  terminate  an  interview 
which  seems  to  have  been  sought  by  you,  only  as  offering 
an  opportunity  to  reproach  me." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke.  Mrs.  Mabury  also  rose,  and  passing 
quickly  between  him  and  the  door,  she  said,  "  You  will  not — 
you  cannot — you  shall  not  leave  me  thus." 

Euston  Hastings  had  come  to  Mrs.  Mabury  in  a  gentle  and 
conciliating  mood,  with  some  consciousness  of  wrong  towards 
her — some  self-accusation ;  but  the  bitterness  of  her  re- 
proaches had  steeled  his  heart,  and  now  her  tone  of  command, 
her — "  You  shall  not  leave  me  thus" — aroused  his  anger. 

With  a  contemptuous  smile,  he  said,  "  YOU  have  forgot- 
ten yourself  and  me,"  and  stretched  out  his  arm  to  put  her 
from  his  path. 


346  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

Fearful  had  been  the  struggle  in  her  soul  during  this  whole 
interview.  She  was  combating  alike  for  pride  and  love,  and 
at  that  look  and  movement,  the  overwrought  brain  gave  way. 

There  was  a  sudden  flash,  as  of  light  reflected  from  some 
quick-darting,  highly-polished  substance,  and  as  this  gleam 
fell  on  his  eyes,  Euston  Hastings  felt  the  cold  touch  of  metal 
on  his  side;  it  had  been  turned  from  his  heart  by  striking  on 
the  watch  which  he  wore  in  his  vest.  He  started  back,  and 
ere  he  recovered  himself,  the  dagger  was  turned  against 
her  who  held  it.  He  seized  her  arm,  exclaiming,  "Are  you 
mad,  Estelle?"  and  a  struggle,  short  but  fierce,  ensued. 
As  he  wrested  the  dagger  from  her  hand,  she  rushed  to  a 
window,  and  throwing  up  a  sash,  would  have  precipitated 
herself  upon  the  pavement  beneath.  He  drew  her  back, 
and  then  shriek  after  shriek,  wild,  fierce,  almost  unearthly, 
broke  from  her  lips.  Few  men  were  strong  enough  to  re- 
sist the  grasp  of  Euston  Hastings,  yet  it  required  all  his 
power  to  restrain  her.  He  had  no  need  to  ring  for  as- 
sistance, for  these  shrieks  brought  thither  all  who  heard 
them.  He  was,  as  usual, .  decisive  and  imperious.  An- 
nouncing the  lady  to  be  delirious,  he  sent  her  man  for  a 
physician,  and  keeping  her  maid  to  render  him  such  as- 
sistance as  circumstances  might  require,  he  dismissed  all 
others  from  the  room  in  a  tone  of  command  which  ad- 
mitted not  of  dispute.  Mrs.  Mabury  continued  to  rave  and 
struggle  wildly  at  intervals,  fill  the  arrival  of  the  physician, 
to  whom  Euston  Hastings  represented  her  attack  as  a  sud- 
den access  of  derangement,  produced  by  mental  excite- 
ment. After  such  an  examination  of  his  patient's  condition 
as  her  struggles  would  permit,  the  physician  decided,  that 
the  excitement  alluded  to  had  probably  only  determined  to 
the  brain  a  fever  already  existing.  "  The  lady  could  not 
have  been  well  before,"  he  said. 

"No,  sir,  that  she  has  not  been," said  tliefemme  de  chant-' 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARiMS.  347 

bre,  who  was  present.  "Before  we  left  Florence,  I  could 
see  that  my  lady  was  ill,  though  she  would  never  ac- 
knowledge it.  She  grew  so  nervous  that  she  could  not 
sleep  at  night  without  laudanum,  and  from  being  the  most 
good-humored  lady  in  the  world,  she  got  quite  testy  and 
quarrelled  with  all  her  friends,  till  at  last,  even  the  Mar- 
chese,  whom  everybody  said  she  was  going  to  marry,  was 
driven  off.  This  morning  she  was  as  well  as  usual  before 
she  went  out,  but  ever  since  she  came  back,  she  has  seemed 
quite  wild." 

"  Whose  dagger  is  this  ?"  asked  Euston  Hastings,  pre- 
senting that  which  he  had  thrust  into  his  bosom  on  wrest- 
ing it  from  Mrs.  Mabury. 

"  Oh,  that  sir,  belongs  to  a  masquerade  dress  that  my 
lady  lent  to  her  friend,  Madame  Baudin.  She  would  not 
wear  the  dagger,  and  so  it  was  just  left  on  the  table 
there,"  pointing  to  one  near  which  Mrs.  Mabury  had  stood 
at  the  moment  of  using  it. 

What  a  picture  of  a  mind  at  war  with  itself  and  all 
around  it,  did  this  woman's  simple  statement  present !  And 
to  this  pitiable  irritability,  this  wild  senseless  raving,  had 
the  contest  between  pride  and  passion  reduced  a  mind  of 
noble  elements,  but  undisciplined  by  education,  and  unsup- 
ported by  religious  faith.  The  thoughts  of  Euston  Has- 
tings reverted  to  Evelyn.  With  equal  sensitiveness,  and 
far  less  vigorous  powers,  she  had  been  subjected  to  cer- 
tainly not  less  trying  circumstances,  and  though  her  health 
had  sunk  beneath  them,  her  spirit  had  remained  untouched, 
or  rather,  had  been  purified  and  exalted  by  them.  Again 
he  asked  himself,  could  the  faith  be  an  illusion  which  pro- 
duced such  influences  ? 

Exhausted  by  a  copious  bleeding,  Mrs.  Mabury  at  length 
became  quiet,  yet  Euston  Hastings  resolved,  to  the  great 
satisfaction  of  her  maid,  not  to  leave  her  till  the  arrival 


348  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


of  an  experienced  nurse,  whom  her  physician  promised  to 


"  I  shall  certainly  sleep  now"  Evelyn  had  said,  and  sleep 
she  did  till  awakened  by  the  sudden  flashing  of  a  light 
upon  her  eyes.  Opening  them,  she  saw  Mary  Raymond 
standing  at  the  foot  of  her  bed. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? — where  is  Mr.  Hastings,"  she  ex 
claimed  hurriedly. 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,  Evelyn — there  is  nothing  to  ex- 
cite alarm,  and  here  is  a  note  from  Mr.  Hastings  which 
will  tell  you  where  he  is.  I  would  not  have  awoke  you, 
but  the  man  who  brought  it  said  it  must  be  given  to  you 
immediately." 

Before  Mary  had  ceased  to  speak,  Evelyn  had  torn  open 
the  note,  and  was  reading, 

"  Be  not  alarmed,  dear  Evelyn ;  though  I  may  not  be 
able  to  return  to-night,  I  am  safe  and  well ;  for  the  rest 
trust  me  still. 

"  Yours, 

"E.  H." 

There  was  evident  haste  and,  Evelyn  thought,  agitation 
betrayed  in  this  note — the  characters  wanted  the  firmness 
usual  in  the  writing  of  Euston  Hastings. 

"  Mary,  who  brought  this  ?"  she  asked. 

"  A  servant,  who  hastened  away  as  soon  as  he  had  de- 
livered it  to  me,  saying  that  his  mistress  was  ill,  and  he 
would  be  wanted." 

"  His  mistress  !"  Evelyn  repeated  ;  "  and  did  you  not  ask 
who  his  mistress  was  ?" 

"  No — in  truth,  Evelyn,  having  just  been  aroused  from 
sleep,  I  scarcely  knew  what  he  said  at  the  time.  But  what 
does  Mr.  Hastings  say  ? — nothing,  I  hope,  to  excite  your 
Uneasiness." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  349 

"  His  note  only  assures  me  that  he  is  safe  and  well, 
though  he  will  not  probably  return  to-night — or,  is  it  night  ? 
— what  is  the  hour?" 

"  Not  quite  twelve." 

"  What  a  long  night  it  will  seem !"  exclaimed  Evelyn, 
with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  Shall  I  pass  it  in  your  room  ?"  asked  Mary. 

"Oh  no!  Mr.  Hastings  may  return — but  I  will  thank 
you  to  light  my  lamp,  for  I  shall  not  sleep  again,  I  fear,  til' 
I  have  seen  him." 

It  would  have  been  a  relief  to  Evelyn  to  speak  to  Mary 
af  her  conjectures, — to  tell  her  at  least  that  Mrs.  Mabury 
was  in  Paris,  that  she  had  seen  her  that  day,  and  that  she 
believed  Euston  Hastings  had  left  his  home  to  visit  her ;  but 
she  felt  that  such  communications  might  be  displeasing  to 
her  husband,  and  she  forbore.  Still  it  was  impossible  to 
converse  on  any  other  subject,  and  she  was  therefore  well 
pleased  when  she  was  left  alone  with  her  thoughts.  Sleep 
she  could  not ;  for  every  distant  step,  every  sound  seemed 
Jhe  herald  of  some  agitating  intelligence.  But  the  night 
passed  without  farther  disturbance,  and  the  first  gray  dawn 
was  struggling  with  the  dim  light  of  the  lamp  in  her 
room,  when  Euston  Hastings  returned.  His  face  looked 
pale  and  worn,  his  countenance  sad,  as  he  approached  the 
bed,  and  bending  over  Evelyn,  said,  "  Awake  ? — You  have 
slept  little,  I  fear,  my  Eva." 

"  I  had  slept  before  your  note  came — but  now  tell  me  of 
yourself." 

"  Not  now,  Eva — I  can  tell  you  nothing  now — I  must 
sleep  first,  and  then  you  shall  know  all.  I  only  came  now 
to  assure  you  that  I  was  well,  and  to  ask  that  you  would 
awake  me  at  ten,  should  I  sleep  so  long." 

Before  ten,  however,  Euston  Hastings  had  arisen;  and 
having  been  refreshed  by  a  bath  and  a  cup  of  coffee,  en- 
30 


350  CHARMS  AND  OOYXTER-CHARMS. 

tered  Evelyn's  room,  looking  less  exhausted,  though  scarce- 
ly less  sad  than  in  the  morning.  Evelyn  rose  to  meet  iiim. 
Drawing  her  affectionately  to  him,  he  seated  himself  upon  a 
couch,  and  placed  her  at  his  side,  his  arm  still  encircling  her 
waist :  yet  for  some  time  he  neither  spoke  to  her  nor  looked 
at  her.  At  length,  turning  suddenly  to  her,  he  said,  "  Ev- 
elyn, you  know  whom  I  went  to  meet  last  evening  ?" 

"  I  think  so,"  Evelyn  replied.  "  It  was  Mrs.  Mabury— - 
was  it  not  ?" 

"  It  was,  Evelyn." 

Another  long  pause  followed,  and  then  as  abruptly  as 
before  he  again  addressed  her. 

"  I  have  at  last  become  convinced,  Evelyn,  that  your  sex 
are  beyond  the  comprehension  of  any  man.  I  thought  I 
understood  them — that  I  could  touch  every  spring  within 
the  pretty,  graceful  automata ;  but  I  confess  I  estimated  my 
powers  too  highly." 

"  May  it  not  be  that  you  have  regarded  us  too  much  as 
automata  ?" 

"  Do  not  say  us,  my  Eva — you  belong  not  to  the  class. 
But  what  else  has  society  made  of  women  in  general — con- 
ventionalism their  law,  and  their  conscience  only  a  trembling 
apprehension  of  the  '  que  dira-t-on  ?'  And  on  this  appre- 
hension I  have  ever  built  in  my  intercourse  with  your  sex, 
believing  it  supreme.  You,  my  Eva,  firet  taught  me  that  it 
was  possible  for  a  conviction  to  exercise  more  power  over  a 
woman  than  a  conventionalism.  It  was  a  strange  thought 
to  me — so  strange  that  I  could  not  at  first  believe  it.  Your 
timid  nature  was  precisely  the  one  to  feel  most  keenly  the 
value  of  conventional  opinion ;  yet  you  trampled  it  beneath 
•your  feet  to  reach  my  heart,  and  then,  at  the  very  moment 
that  I  believed  you  all  my  own,  the  weak  girl  became  en- 
dowed with  unconquerable  strength — strength  to  endure; 
and  though  I  could  see  that  her  heart  had  grown  to  nine, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  351 


and  bled  with  every  effort  to  separate  them,  she  resolutely 
tore  them  apart,  and  turned  from  me — " 

"  To  die,"  .breathed  Evelyn,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Ay,  to  die.  I  felt  then  that  there  was  indeed  some- 
thing in  humanity  beyond  the  gross  senses  that  move  the 
common  herd.  What  is  this  something?  Whence  comes 
it?  Whither  goes  it  when  the  body  is  resolved  into  its 
original  particles  ?" 

He  was  silent,  sunk  in  revery,  his  thoughts  evidently  far 
away.  Evelyn  grew  impatient — she  saw  no  connection  be- 
tween all  this  and  the  events  of  the  past  night,  and  she  said 
at  length,  "  But  Mrs.  Mabury — " 

"  Ay,  true — I  had  forgotten — she  too  has  disappointed 
all  my  calculations.  I  had  studied  her  character  for  years, 
and  thought  myself  acquainted  with  its  every  phase.  I  long 
ago  decided  that  pride  was  its  master-key,  holding  in  check 
every  other  passion  and  principle.  This  I  could  not  hope  to 
conquer,  but  I  might  mould  it  to  my  purpose.  In  short,  it 
was  the  prominence  of  this  characteristic  which  made  me 
feel  it  safe  to  maintain  with  Estelle  a  friendship  that  might 
have  had  unpleasant  results  with  one  less  proud  or  more 
impulsive  than  I  supposed  her  to  be.  In  all  the  years  of 
our  intimate  intercourse,  never  had  I  known  her  to  lose  her 
self-command,  and  never,  therefore,  had  she  lost  her  in- 
fluence over  me;  but  last  spring,  when  I  joined  her  at 
Havre — " 

"  Joined  her  at  Havre !"  exclaimed  Evelyn. 

"  Yes — she  awaited  me  there,"  quietly  resumed  Euston 
Hastings,  unconscious  of  the  pang  he  was  inflicting  in  thus 
corroborating  suspicions,  from  which  Evelyn  had  endured 
the  keenest  suffering,  but  which  she  had  discarded  as  un- 
just on  finding  him  alone  in  Rome. 

"  She  was  not  with  you  in  Rome,"  said  Evelyn,  do~bt- 
fully 


352          CHARMS  AN!  COUNTS "v-CH ARMS. 

"  Not  when  you  arrived — she  had  gone  to  Florence." 

"  Had  she  been  with  you,  we  should  have  been  parted 
forever,"  and  Evelyn's  pulses  throbbed,  and  her  color  rose 
as  if  she  were  even  then  enduring  the  indignation  and  th« 
agony  of  such  a  discovery. 

"  Silly  child  !"  exclaimed  Euston  Hastings  with  a  smile — 
"  do  you  think  after  following  me  to  Rome,  you  could  have 
gone  back  without  seeing  me  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  how  that  might  have  been.  I  think  I 
could  ;  but  had  I  seen  you,  it  would  have  been  not  to  plead 
for  forgiveness,  as  one  conscious  of  having  sinned  against 
you,  but  to  upbraid  you  with  my  own  wrongs." 

"  We  should  indeed,  then,  have  been  parted  forever,  and 
your  upbraidings  would  have  been  as  unjust  as  unwise." 

"  They  would  indeed  have  been  unwise,"  said  Evelyn,  as 
she  suffered  herself,  her  momentary  ebullition  of  anger 
conquered,  to  sink  back  again  on  the  arm  from  which  she 
had  withdrawn. 

"Ay,  and  unjust  too,  Evelyn,  for  I  had  not  been  drawn 
from  you  by  the  attractions  of  Estelle ;  and  whatever  in- 
fluence they  had  exerted  over  me  was  already  in  its  wane." 
Evelyn  pressed  closer  to  the  side  against  which  she  leaned, 
and  Euston  Hastings  smiled  as  he  continued — "  Yes,  Eve- 
lyn— already  in  its  wane,  for  the  pride  on  which  I  had  cal- 
culated to  preserve  me  from  exactions  on  the  part  of  Es- 
telle, had  become  morbidly  sensitive,  from  the  fear,  I  sup- 
pose, that  I  would  consider  her  permission  to  join  her 
abroad,  as  a  proof  of  an  interest  more  tender  than  that 
which  I  had  professed  to  entertain  for  her.  At  least  it 
was  only  to  a  determination  to  uproot  such  an  impression 
from  my  heart,  that  I  could  attribute  the  frequent  coldness, 
petulance,  and  unreasonableness,  which,  even  before  she 
left  me  for  Florence,  had  convinced  me  that  marriage  was 
not  the  only  connection  in  which  a  woman  might  pr  /ve  a 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  353 

tormentor.  She  went  about  a  fortnight  before  you  entered 
Rome,  and  till  yesterday,  I  had  not  seen  her  again,  nor  had 
I  even  heard  of  her  for  several  months.  The  moment  I 
saw  her,  I  felt  that  a  crisis  had  come.  Perfect  confidence 
had  hitherto  marked  my  intercourse  with  Estelle.  I  must 
withdraw  this,  and  well  I  knew  it  would  be  impossible  to 
prevent  her  feeling  the  withdrawal,  or  I  must  unveil  to  her 
the  new  impulses  you  had  given  to  my  mind — the  new 
feelings  you  had  awakened  in  my  heart — feelings  incom- 
patible with  an  intercourse  such  as  I  had  hitherto  maintained 
with  Estelle." 

"And  is  it  so?"  asked  Evelyn,  softly. 

"  Can  you  doubt  it,  Evelyn  ?  Have  you  not  seen  it,  felt 
it  ?  my  wife,  at  last  in  your  own  sense  of  that  word.  It  is 
no  longer  your  beauty,  Evelyn,  beautiful  as  you  are,  that 
I  chiefly  prize,  it  is  your  purity,  your  gentleness,  your  de- 
votedness  of  feeling,  your  firmness  of  principle.  It  was 
the  manifestation  you  had  made  of  these  qualities,  which 
brought  me  here,  my  Eva,  to  offer  you  a  second  time  my 
love — a  love  deeper,  truer,  worthier  of  you;  and  it  is  to 
these  qualities  that  I  would  desire  to  ally  myself  through 
my  whole  existence,  though  that  should  be  forever.  Is  this 
what  you  meant  by  a  spiritual  union,  my  beloved  ?" 

Evelyn  could  not  speak,  but  she  lifted  to  his,  eyes  so  full 
of  gratitude,  a  face  so  irradiated  with  joy,  that  Euston 
Hastings,  as  he  pressed  his  lips  upon  the  serene  brow,  said 
to  himself,  "  It  is  the  face  of  an  angel."  As  the  thought 
passed  through  his  mind,  he  remembered  another  face  on 
which  hate  and  despair  had  impressed  themselves  as  vividly. 
The  remembrance  caused  an  irrepressible  shudder,  as  he 
said,  "  But  I  must  finish  my  tale.  I  have  told  you  that  I 
had  not  heard  from  Estelle  for  months  before  yesterday. 
I  even  supposed  that  she  had  married  again,  that  she  was 

now  the  Marchesa  di  S ;  but  in  the  few  minutes  I  left 

30* 


354  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

you  at  the  Louvre,  yesterday,  I  learned  that  this  was  not 
so.  At  the  same  time,  she  urged  me  almost  passionately 
to  say  that  I  would  visit  her  in  the  evening,  and  I  promised 

before  we  parted,  to  be  at  her  hotel  in  the  Rue  de ,  at 

eight  o'clock.  I  went  reluctantly,  for  I  foresaw  what  I 
always  endeavor  to  a\oid  with  your  sex — a  scene ;  but  how 
little  did  I  anticipate  what  awaited  me — how  little  could  I 
anticipate  it ! — how  little  dream,  that  the  pride  of  Estelle 
would  permit  her  to.  draw  even  on  her  memory,  the  un- 
enviable eclat  of  murder  and  suicide  !" 

"  Murder  !  suicide  !"  burst  in  accents  of  horror  from  Eve- 
lyn's ashy  lips. 

Euston  Hastings  had;  at  last,  been  too  abrupt  in  com- 
municating that  which  he  had  approached  with  such  re.- 
luctance — she  was  fainting.  He  laid  her  on  the  couch — 
held  a  glass  of  water  to  her  lips,  and  spoke  soothingly  to 
her;  she  revived,  and  gazing  earnestly  in  his  face,  burst 
into  tears.  We  will  not  linger  on  this  scene.  It  was  long 
ere  Evelyn  was  sufficiently  composed  to  ask  for  the  details 
of  the  fearful  interview.  Euston  Hastings  gave  them  faith- 
fully— not  one  reproach  was  withheld. 

"  And  now,  Evelyn,"  he  said  in  conclusion,  "  I  have  told 
you  all.  Many — most  men,  perhaps,  would  have  thought 
it  impolitic  to  do  so, — but  I  could  not  be  happy  even  in 
your  affection,  if  there  were  one  corner  of  my  heart — one 
event  of  my  life  which  I  feared  to  unveil  to  you.  I  am 
called  reserved,  and  so  I  am,  but  it  is  not  from  fear.  From 
you,  I  would  henceforward  have  no  reserves,  my  Eva;  and 
therefore,  I  acknowledge  to  you,  that  the  reproaches  of 
Estelle  were  not  altogether  unjust.  I  did  much,  doubt- 
less, to  unsettle  her  confidence  in  the  faith  of  her  cnild- 
hood.  Nor  was  this  all — " 

"  Say  no  more,"  said  Evelyn,  checking  his  self-accusa'Jon, 
"we  will  both  endeavor  to  make  amends  to  her  in  the  future/'' 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  355 

"  You  owe  her  nothing,  Eva." 

"  Are  we  not  one  now  ? — Is  not  your  debt  mine  ?  Let 
me  begin  even  now  to  pay  it.  Let  me  go  with  you  to  her 
hotel,  and  become  her  nurse,  instead  of  leaving  her  to  he 
tended  by  strangers." 

"  And  would  you,  Eva,  do  this  ?  Could  you  do  it  for  one 
whom  you  cannot  regard  as  a  friend  ?" 

"  The  faith  I  profess,"  said  Evelyn  timidly,  "  teaches  me 
to  love  and  to  do  good  to  not  my  friends  only." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  faith,  and  beautiful  indeed  must  be  a 
life  conformed  to  it.  Act  out  your  own  sweet  will,  then, 
my  Eva.  I  will  not  restrain  it.  You  shall  go  with  me, 
and  you  must  even  now  prepare  for  it,  for  I  promised  to 
meet  Estelle's  physician  at  noon." 


356  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  None  ever  struck  another,  save  through  his  own  side." 

R.  C.  FRENCH. 

"  NOBLE  thoughts  write  themselves  clearly  on  her  face," 
thought  Euston  Hastings,  as  Evelyn  joined  him,  prepared 
for  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Mabury.  There  was  little  conversa- 
tion on  their  way  thither,  for  the  hearts  of  both  were  too 
full  for  speech.  To  Evelyn,  what  she  was  about  to  do,  was 
an  offering  of  gratitude  to  Heaven,  as  well  as  of  devoted 
love  to  her  husband — it  was  a  religious  service. 

Mrs.  Mabury's  physician  was  already  in  attendance.  His 
countenance  was  unpromising. 

"  She  is  no  better,"  he  said  in  reply  to  Evelyn's  anxious 
inquiries,  and  then,  turning  to  Euston  Hastings,  named 
another  medical  gentleman  with  whom  he  would  like  to 
consult.  Him,  Euston  Hastings  immediately  summoned. 

In  the  room  in  which  they  sat,  could  be  occasionally 
heard  the  wild  ravings  of  delirium.  Euston  Hastings 
shrank  from  the  thought  of  permitting  Evelyn  to  encounter 
them.  "  There  may  be  danger,"  he  said. 

"No" — the  physician  interposed — "there  can  be  no 
danger,  as  I  have  been  compelled  to  confine  the  lady's  arms 
to  prevent  her  injuring  herself." 

Thus  encouraged,  Evelyn  entreated  so  earnestly  to  be 
permitted  to  enter  the  chamber  of  suffering,  that  Euston 
Hastings  at  length  consented.  He  and  the  physician  ac- 
companied her  thither,  but  they  remained  standing  behind 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  357 

the  curtains  that  were  drawn  around  one  side  of  the  bed, 
while  Evelyn  proceeded  alone  to  the  other  side,  where  sat 
the  usual  attendant  of  Mrs.  Mabury — her  eyes  red  with 
weeping ;  and  another  woman,  dressed  in  the  peculiar  garb 
of  a  Sister  of  Charity.  Evelyn  scarcely  saw  these,  how- 
ever, for  her  whole  attention  was  given  to  the  sufferer  in 
the  bed,  who,  restrained  as  she  was,  still  threw  herself 
restlessly  from  side  to  side,  while  her  burning  eyes  glared 
with  an  almost  fierce  intensity  from  her  crimson  face.  She 
could  excite  nothing  but  pity  now. 

"  Speak  to  her,"  said  the  physician,  as  Evelyn  stood  ga- 
zing on  her  in  silent  sorrow. 

"  Mrs.  Mabury,"  uttered  in  a  low,  tremulous  tone,  was 
all  that  Evelyn  could  say.  Low  as  it  was,  the  voice  seemed 
to  touch  some  still  unbroken  chord  of  memory — the  large, 
stern  eyes  grew  softer  hi  expression  as  they  turned  to- 
wards it. 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you  suffer,"  were  the  only 
words  that  Evelyn  could  command  in  answer  to  that  mute 
appeal. 

Mrs.  Mabury  still  remaining  quiet,  Evelyn  ventured  to 
lay  her  hand  upon  her  forehead,  and  while  looking  earn- 
estly into  those  upturned  eyes,  she  prayed  with  an  earnest 
spirit  that  God  would  restore  her  to  reason  and  to  life.  As 
she  stood  thus,  an  expression  of  satisfaction  stole  gradually 
over  the  rigid  features  of  the  sufferer,  and  the  muttering, 
which  had  hitherto  been  suspended  only  for  wilder  bursts 
of  phrensy,  ceased. 

"  My  cold  hand  is  grateful  to  her,"  said  Evelyn  to  the 
Sister ;  "  if  you  will  place  some  cold  water  within  my 
reach,  I  will  wet  my  fingers  and  lay  them  on  her  fore- 
head.'' 

"There  is  no  need  of  that,"  answered  Sister  Agatha; 
"you  have  the  power  to  soothe  her — see — she  will  sleep 


358  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

soon," — and  in  truth  the  lids  soon  after  fell,  for  the  first 
time  during  that  night  and  day,  over  those  softening  eyes. 

Was  this  Mesmerism — or  was  Evelyn  right  when  she  whis- 
pered in  her  inmost  heart,  "  God  has  heard  my  prayer ;  she 
will  live — and  the  dark  shadow  of  another's  misery  and 
death,  caused  by  him,  will  pass  from  my  husband's  life." 

From  this  time  Evelyn  was  considered  by  the  phy- 
sicians as  their  best  coadjutrix,  and  under  her  influence 
their  patient  became  gentle  even  in  her  madness.  Her 
memory  seemed  to  go  back  to  that  early  time  when  all 
around  her  and  within  her  was  fresh  and  pure.  Her  con- 
versations were  with  her  mother,  and  a  young  sister  who 
had  died  in  early  life,  and  by  whose  name  of  Gertrude  she 
always  addressed  Evelyn.  Sometimes  she  would  sing,  with 
touching  pathos  and  the  most  exquisite  melody,  snatches 
of  some  old  song,  probably  remembered  in  association  with 
that  early  home. 

Euston  Hastings  had  been  requested  by  the  physicians 
not  to  show  himself  to  Mrs.  Mabury,  lest  he  should  awaken 
the  train  of  thought  which  had  proved  so  perilous — a  re- 
quest with  which  he  gladly  complied ;  yet  he  seldom  left 
her  hotel  during  the  day,  and  at  night  he  slept  on  a  couch 
in  her  saloon,  where  he  might  be  at  hand  to  summon  her 
physicians,  or  to  perform  any  other  necessary  service.  He 
always  insisted,  however,  that  Evelyn  should  return  home 
at  night. 

Four  days  had  passed  away,  with  little  change  in  the 
invalid  beyond  that  which  had  taken  place  on  Evelyn's  first 
introduction  to  her  room.  On  the  morning  of  the  fifth  she 
found  Mrs.  Mabury  sleeping  at  her  entrance,  and  taking 
her  seat  beside  the  bed  she  watched  long  her  tranquil 
slumber.  Evelyn  had  "low  a  strong  hope  that  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury would  recover ;  and  as  she  now  gazed  upon  her  pale 
but  placid  features,  she  asked  herself  what  would  be  the 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  359 

character  of  their  future  intercourse.  Would  that  death- 
like face  rise  up  again  brilliant  in  beauty,  and  with  its  glit- 
tering eyes  and  haughty  brow,  lure  away  the  heart  on 
which  rested  her  every  hope  of  earthly  peace  ?  Would  that 
voice,  which  had  become  so  touching  in  its  tones  of  tender 
sadness,  again  mock  her  anguish  with  its  scornful  laugh  ? 

These  thoughts  were  yet  passing  through  her  mind  when 
Mrs.  Mabury  unclosed  her  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  her  with 
a  look  which  showed  at  once  that  reason  had  returned  to 
her  throne.  There  was  surpiise  and  inquiry  in  its  expression. 
Impulsively  Evelyn  drew  back  behind  the  draperies  of  the 
bed,  as  if  she  dreaded  to  meet  that  glance ;  and  Sister 
Agatha,  seeing  the  movement,  advanced.  Mrs.  Mabury 
looked  fixedly  at  her  for  a  moment  and  said,  in  a  feeble 
tone,  "Have  I  been  ill?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Sister,  "and  you  are  still  not  well 
enough  to  ask  questions.  Take  this  draught,  and  then 
sleep.  When  you  wake  again,  I  will  tell  you  all  you  wish 
to  know." 

Too  feeble  to  contend,  Mrs.  Mabury  obeyed,  and  was 
soon  again  asleep,  and  Evelyn  stole  from  the  room,  anxious 
to  communicate  this  favorable  change  to  Euston  Hastings. 
The  physicians  were  with  him,  and  forbade  her  return  to 
the  sick-room.  Mrs.  Mabury  must  at  present,  they  said, 
be  left  to  the  care  of  Sister  Agatha,  with  whom  she  would 
not  be  tempted  to  converse  on  any  agitating  subject — the 
vary  sight  of  an  acquaintance  at  present  might  be  inju- 
rious to  her,  by  arousing  memory  and  stimulating  unquiet 
thoughts. 

The  next  morning  when  Evelyn  presented  herself  at  the 

Hotel  de ,  she  was  told  by  Mrs.  Mabury's  woman  that 

(Sister  Agatha  had  requested  to  see  her  in  the  saloon  on 
her  arrival.  She  accordingly  waited  there  while  the  girl 
informed  the  Sister  of  her  presence. 


360  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

"  The  lady  is  much  better,"  said  Sister  Agatha  on  her 
entrance, — "  so  much  better  that  it  is  by  her  own  request  I 
now  come  to  you  to  thank  you  for  your  past  kindness,  and 
to  ask  that  you  will  excuse  her  from  seeing  you  till  she  is 
stronger." 

Evelyn  was  grieved,  and  Euston  Hastings  saw  it  in  her 
countenance. 

"  It  is  far  better  so,  Eva,"  he  said,  drawing  near  her  ; 
"  perfect  quiet  is  now  necessary  for  Mrs.  Mabury's  recovery. 
Present  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hastings'  regards  to  Mrs.  Mabury," 
he  continued  to  the  Sister,  "  and  say  they  are  rejoiced  to 
hear  she  is  better,  and  hope  she  will  be  well  enough  to  see 
them  soon." 

"  This  is  well,"  he  said  to  Evelyn,  when  they  entered  the 
carriage  on  their  return  home.  "  Estelle  has  resumed  her 
self-command,  and  our  future  intercourse  will  arrange  itself 
naturally  and  properly." 

Evelyn  was  not  so  well  satisfied.  She  longed  to  know 
how  much  Mrs.  Mabury's  memory  had  retained  of  the  past. 
She  could  not  but  fear  that  there  were  bitter  conflicts  still 
in  store  for  that  proud  and  passionate  spirit  which  she  would 
have  gladly  led,  had  she  been  permitted,  to  the  great  Com- 
forter. As  it  was,  she  could  only  commend  her  to  Him  in 
her  prayers,  which  she  failed  not  to  do. 

Days  passed  away.  Euston  Hastings  inquired  every  day 
after  Mrs.  Mabury's  health,  and  received  ever  the  same 
answer, — she  was  better,  but  still  too  feeble  to  receive  visit- 
ers.  One  day  he  called  at  an  unusually  late  hour,  and  while 
he  was  still  speaking  to  the  porter,  a  Romish  priest,  in  the 
dress  of  one  of  the  religious  orders,  passed  him,  and  entered 
the  door  from  which  he  had  just  been  turned  away. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  he  asked  of  the  porter. 

"  A  holy  father  who  visits  the  sick  lady  every  day,"  was 
the  reply. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  361 

"  Visits  sister  Agatha,  perhaps,"  thought  Euston  Has- 
tings ;  yet  plausible  as  was  the  supposition,  it  did  not  satisfy 
him.  The  subject  recurred  to  his  mind  again  and  again 
through  that  day.  "  Estelle  is  not  in  a  condition  to  be  left 
so  much  to  herself,"  he  said  to  himself;  "to-morrow  I  will 
insist  on  seeing  her." 

Euston  Hastings  was  right.  Mrs.  Mabury,  enfeebled  by 
disease  and  maddened  by  humiliation,  was  indeed  unfit  to 
withstand  the  influence  of  a  religionist  as  zealous  and  as  as- 
tute as  Sister  Agatha. 

The  ravings  of  delirium  could  not  but  betray  to  Mrs. 
Mabury 's  constant  nurse  much  of  her  past  history  and  pres- 
ent feelings ;  and  before  the  return  of  reason  permitted  her 
to  converse,  the  hope  of  bearing  back  to  the  bosom  of  the 
Church  this  her  straying  and  sorrowing  child,  had  redoubled 
attentions  prompted  at  first  by  charity  alone.  With  con- 
summate tact  did  she  approach  her  end.  Mrs.  Mabury's 
skepticism  offered  little  opposition  to  her,  for  it  was  far  more 
of  the  heart  than  the  head.  It  was  identified  with  the  in- 
fluence of  Euston  Hastings,  and  though  vigorous  in  his 
presence,  grew  doubting  and  fearful  when  he  was  not  sup- 
porting it.  Now  she  was  not  only  separated  from  him,  but 
she  resolved  the  separation  should  be  as  lasting  as  their 
lives ;  for  how  could  she  forgive  that  look,  that  gesture  of 
scorn  which  had  so  stamped  themselves  upon  her  brain,  that 
even  madness  had  not  erased  them.  And  not  only  was  she 
separated  from  him,  but  there  were  moments  when  she  be- 
lieved herself  standing  within  the  circle  of  the  shadow  of 
death — standing  there  without  hope  or  faith,  without  friend 
or  counsellor — alone — alone.  Standing  thus  face  to  face 
with  the  grim  tyrant,  whom  in  a  moment  of  passion  she 
would  have  rushed  to  meet,  she  shrank  back  appalled  from 
his  dread  features.  She  no  longer  dared  to  die,  while  yet 
she  loathed  to  live.  When  Euston  Hastings  had  wedded 
31 


362  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

another,  she  had  cried,  "  Oh  that  I  could  die  !"  Yet  then 
her  pride  had  sustained  her ;  and  though  the  arrow  had 
penetrated  her  heart,  she  had  covered  the  wound,  and 
moved  through  the  world  with  so  firm  a  step  and  so  lofty 
an  air,  that  none  had  dared  to  pity  her.  Now,  in  that  hour 
of  madness,  she  had  stripped  the  veil  from  her  heart,  and 
she,  before  whom  as  before  a  crowned  empress  men  had 
bowed,  was  henceforth  to  be  the  object  of  their  mockery, 
or,  at  best,  of  their  pity.  Even  now  the  few  who  approached 
her  looked  on  her  as  none  had  ever  looked  before — she  hated 
the  light  that  revealed  to  her  such  glances ;  while  even  in 
midnight  darkness  there  stood  beside  her  one  from  whose 
eyes  flashed  angry  scorn,  or  on  whose  lips  there  sat  a  mock- 
ing smile,  to  escape  from  which  she  would  have  braved  all 
but  death. 

And  what  was  the  convent,  of  which  Sister  Agatha  spoke, 
but  a  grave  without  the  peril  or  the  pang  of  death  ?  Would 
it  not  shut  her  as  surely  from  scornful  eyes  and  mocking  lips 
— and  would  it  not  wring  that  marble  heart,  as  certainly  as 
death  itself,  with  late  repentance  and  vain  remorse  ?  She 
luxuriated  in  the  thought  that  she  should  thus  at  last  bow 
that  haughty  spirit,  and  call  forth  from  that  cold  and  fickle 
nature  passionate  longings  and  vain  regrets  for  the  friend- 
ship which  had  embellished  so  large  a  portion  of  his  life. 
She  was  impatient  for  the  moment  when  these  objects  might 
be_accomplished.  Before  she  left  her  room  she  had  com- 
municated with  the  Superior  of  the  convent  of ,  and  in 

the  afternoon  of  that  day  on  which  Euston  Hastings  saw  a 
priest  issuing  rrom  the  hotel  she  inhabited,  she  was  within 
that  convent's  walls.  The  next  morning,  impelled  by  his 
reflections  of  the  previous  day,  he  called  on  her  at  an  early 
hour,  and  found  a  letter  awaiting  him.  With  a  fc  reboding 
heart  he  drew  close  the  blinds  of  the  carriage  in  which  he 
sat,  ere  he  broke  the  seal  and  read  the  following  lines : 


BHARMd  A  YD  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


"  You  know  me  too  well,  I  think,  to  doubt  that  our  last  in- 
terview was  a  final  one.  There  is  but  one  way  to  expiate 
the  folly  which  has  exposed  me  to  your  scorn — it  is  to  die 
— and  to  you  I  am  henceforth  dead.  Ere  you  read  this, 
the  gates  of  a  convent,  impenetrable  as  the  grave,  will  have 
closed  upon  me.  As  from  the  grave,  then,  I  speak  to  you, 
and  bid  you  review  the  past,  and  answer  to  your  own  heart 
the  question,  whether  I  have  been  more  sinned  against  or 
sinning.  Remember  our  early  days  of  intimacy, — recall  the 
earnestness,  the  perseverance  with  which  you  sought  to  ex- 
pel from  my  mind  the  simple  faith  of  my  childhood,  which 
had  been  stifled  but  not  extinguished  by  the  follies  and  van- 
ities of  a  gay  and  thoughtless  life.  Remember,  too,  the 
avidity  with  which  you  sought  the  heart  so  little  prized 
when  once  you  were  assured  of  it. 

"  Early  in  our  intercourse  I  saw  into  your  cold  and  self- 
absorbed  and  mocking  nature,  and  though  even  then  you 
had  won  a  power  over  me  which  none  else  could  ever  boast, 
I  vowed  that  you  should  live  my  slave  and  not  my  master ; 
and  for  years  I  accomplished  my  vow — at  what  cost  none 
but  a  woman  can  conceive.  Nfver,  during  all  those  years, 
did  I  yield,  where  you  were  concerned,  to  one  spontaneous 
impulse.  I  kept  you  ever  just  within  reach  of  the  prize 
which  you  could  never  grasp — I  repressed  the  wild  throb- 
bings  of  my  heart — I  cultivated  my  intellect — I  studied 
every  charm  of  manner,  and  all  that  I  might  keep  you 
more  surely  in  my  bonds.  But  there  was  yet  a  harder  task 
in  store  for  me.  Wearied  of  what  seemed  to  you  a  fruitless 
pursuit,  you  had  been  attracted  by  another.  Oh,  the  bit- 
terness of  that  hour,  which  brought  me  first  suspicion  and 
then  confirmation  of  the  fact !  Yet  it  did  not  utterly  crush 
me,  for  it  wanted  the  only  unendurable  pang — I  had  com- 
manded myself  and  you  dared  not  scorn  me.  I  feared, 
however,  that  my  strength  might  give  way,  and  I  left  you. 


364  CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

A  few  months  passed — a  few  months  only,  for  they  were 
all  that  I  believed  requisite  to  wear  away  the  first  glow  of 
your  new  attachment — and  I  returned.  Hitherto  my  pride 
and  my  love  had  been  opposed,  and  had  combated  each 
other,  but  thenceforth  they  acted  in  unison,  and  to  win  you 
from  her  who  had  for  a  time  estranged  us  was  the  prompt- 
ing of  both.  I  obeyed  that  prompting — you  left  her — you 
stood  beside  me  with  the  world  against  us,  and  you  said — 
'  For  life,  Estelle !' 

"  I  have  been  obliged  to  lay  aside  my  pen,  overpowered 
by  the  memory  of  that  moment.  Cold  as  you  were — self- 
absorbed  as  you  were — I  still  believed  you  had  a  heart; 
and  you,  on  the  contrary,  supposed  that  I  had  none.  The 
supposition  showed  you  ignorant  indeed  of  woman.  Only 
to  your  sex  belongs  the  high  prerogative  of  being  able  to 
divest  themselves  wholly  of  this  part  of  the  human  organ- 
ism. You  have  taught  me  that  a  subtle  intellect  and  acute 
senses  are  all  that  are  needed  in  man,  but  it  is  not  thus 
with  woman.  Society  may  render  her  frivolous — man  may 
teach  her  to  dissemble — vice  may  degrade  her — but  nothing 
can  make  her  heartless.  It  was  a  heart — a  naked,  bleeding 
heart  which  threw  itself  upon  you  in  our  last  interview,  and 
found  you  iron.  Can  you  wonder  at  the  madness  that  en- 
sued ?  Even  for  that  last  folly  you  cannot  scorn  me,  while 
the  past  which  I  have  recounted  lives  in  your  memory 
And  if  you  do,  what  need  I  care  ?  Little  reck  the  dead  in 
their  silent  graves  of  the  feelings  with  which  the  living  may 
regard  them,  and  to  my  lonely  cell  no  proud  glance,  no 
mocking  tone  can  reach.  Would  you  see  how  steadily  I 
can  walk  to  that  cell — my  only  refuge  from  a  world  which 
you  have  desolated — come  three  days  hence  to  the  chapel 

of  the  convent  of  .     Come,   and  look  once  more 

upon  one  whose  stream  of  life  might  have  moved  on  joy- 
ously and  proudly  to  the  last  bvt  for  you— one  whose 


CHARMS    AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  365 

powers  of  mind  and  heart  have  been  perverted  from  all 
true  and  noble  aims,  to  make  sport  for  you  during  a  few 
brief  years  of  your  existence !  See  her  consign  herself  to 
what  will  be  to  her  a  living  death,  and  then  live  on  happily 
if  you  can ! 

"ESTELLE." 

Little  would  Euston  Hastings  have  heeded  these  re- 
proaches, had  they  not  been  echoed  by  a  voice  within  him. 
As  it  was,  they  pierced  through  the  shield  of  selfishness  to 
his  heart,  but  they  also  irritated  his  temper.  He  would  at 
that  moment  have  given  his  whole  fortune  to  blot  from 
Mrs.  Mabury's  mind  the  past  which  she  had  sketched  so 
forcibly,  and  to  restore  her  to  the  life  which  he  had  dark- 
ened ;  yet,  at  that  very  moment,  his  heart  closed  against 
her  as  it  had  never  done  before.  Involuntarily  in  contrast 
with  the  proud  and  passionate  and  vindictive  feelings  she 
had  avowed,  arose  in  his  mind  the  memory  of  Evelyn's 
pure  and  generous  affection,  under  deeper  wrongs  than 
Mrs.  Mabury  had  ever  endured.  She,  too,  had  withdrawn 
from  him,  but  it  had  been  with  blessings  and  prayers — it 
had  been  not  to  save  herself  from  suffering,  but  him  from 
sin.  Her  heart,  too,  had  been  crushed,  but  from  it  had 
proceeded  no  poisonous  exhalation — it  had  sent  forth  only 
the  sweet  odor  of  love  to  him,  and  faith  in  Heaven.  The 
result  of  his  reflections  expressed  itself  in  two  equally  de- 
cided resolutions — the  one,  that  every  engine  he  could 
influence  should  be  set  in  motion  to  prevent  Mrs.  Mabury's 
insane  sacrifice,  as  he  termed  her  seclusion  in  a  convent; 
the  second,  that  her  restoration  to  the  world  once  accom- 
plished, he  would  never  see  her  more. 

From  his  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Mabury,  Euston  Hastings 
was  convinced  that  if  she  were  induced  to  leave  the  convent 
at  all,  it  must  be  before  any  public  act — such  as  her  as- 
31* 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


sumption  of  the  white  veil  of  the  novice — should  make  her 
intended  profession  known  to  the  world.  "  Let  her  once 
make  this  public  avowal  of  her  designs,  and  she  will  die 
there,"  said  Euston  Hastings  to  himself, — "  her  pride  will 
never  permit  her  to  retract." 

Whatever  was  to  be  done,  therefore,  must  be  done 
quickly,  and  he  lost  not  a  moment's  time  in  his  efforts 
to  reach  and  to  influence  Mrs.  Mabury.  Having  vainly 
sought  access  to  her  himgolf,  he  succeeded  in  inteiesting 
the  American  minister,  with  whom  he  was  intimately  ac- 
quainted, in  her  fate.  At  a  late  hour  of  the  evening  pre- 
ceding the  day  on  which  Mrs.  Mabury  was  to  commence 
her  novitiate,  that  gentleman  saw  Euston  Hastings,  and 
reported  that  though  he  had  obtained  a  personal  interview 
with  her,  his  arguments  and  persuasions  had  been  alike 
ineffectual  in  inducing  her  to  relinquish  her  design. 

"  She  is  mad  !"  exclaimed  Euston  Hastings  in  much  agita- 
tion. "  She  must  be  taken  away  by  force." 

"  By  whose  authority  ?"  asked  the  minister.  "  She  is  of 
age,  is  to  all  appearance  sane,  and  has  not,  as  far  as  I 
know,  a  relative  in  the  world  entitled  to  interfere  with  her 
disposal  of  herself  or  of  her  fortune." 

.  This  was  all  true ;  and  stubborn  as  was  the  will  of  Euston 
Hastings,  it  must  succumb  to  circumstances  such  as  these. 
When  he  met  Evelyn  after  this  conversation,  she  needed 
not  to  ask  the  result  of  the  efforts  in  which  they  were  both 
so  much  interested — it  was  written  in  his  sad  eyes  and  on 
his  pale  and  sombre  brow.  He  had  planted  the  seed  of  a 
poisonous  tree — it  had  sprung  up  and  matured  and  borne 
fruit,  and  he  must  eat  of  it.  "  So  ends  that  act  of  life's 
drama,"  he  had  said  wh^n  parting  from  Mrs.  Mabury,  be- 
fore his  marriage  with  Ev'lyn.  He  was  mistaken,  a^  we 
said  then :  to-morrow  -vould  be  played  out  the  last  scene 
in  that  act. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  367 

At  an  early  hour  on  that  morrow,  Euston  Hastings  pre- 
sented himself  at  the  chapel  of  the  convent,  and  repre- 
senting himself  as  a  friend  of  the  proposed  novice,  found 
no  difficulty  in  obtaining  admittance.  Few.  persons  care 
to  see  the  profession  of  a  novice,  as  the  ceremonies  are 
simple  in  comparison  with  those  which  mark  the  hour  that 
puts  the  irrevocable  seal  on  the  destinies  of  the  candidate. 
Euston  Hastings,  therefore,  found  himself  nearly  alone,  as, 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  a  pillar,  he  waited  the  entrance 
of  her  whom  he  had  known  in  such  different  scenes. 

There  was  something  unreal  in  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury — the  gay,  the  fascinating,  the  voluptuous,  relinquish- 
ing the  world  which  she  was  formed  to  adorn,  and  con- 
demning herself  to  the  loneliness  and  austerities  of  a  con- 
ventual life.  Euston  Hastings  almost  persuaded  himself 
that  it  could  not  be — that  it  was  a  trick  adopted  to  play 
upon  his  feelings ;  but  at  the  appointed  hour,  the  door 
communicating  with  the  convent  opened;  the  abbot  en- 
tered, and  was  followed  by  the  prioress  and  nuns,  among 
whom  stood  conspicuous  the  stately  form  of  her  who  oc- 
cupied his  thoughts.  A  dress  of  white  satin,  and  a  veil  of 
the  most  exquisite  lace,  confined  to  her  head  by  a  wreath 
of  orange  flowers,  marked  the  destined  bride  of  Heaven. 
She  was  deadly  pale  when  first  the  eye  of  Euston  Hastings 
rested  upon  her ;  but,  immediately  after  entering  the  chapel, 
she  looked  hurriedly  around,  and  he  knew  by  the  bright 
flush  that  rose  even  to  her  temples  that  she  had  seen  him. 
The  sight  seemed  only  to  communicate  new  strength  to 
her  resolves,  for  she  walked  with  steadfast  step  to  the  altar. 
All  afterwards,  was  as  a  dream  to  Euston  Hastings.  He 
knew  not  that  the  Mass  was  celebrated  in  his  presence — he 
scarcely  heard  the  music  floating  around  him — yet  he  lost 
no  movement  of  Mrs.  Mabury.  When  she  was  leaving  the 
chapel,  he  sought  again  to  meet  her  eye,  but  in  vain.  She 


368  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

evidently  avoided  looking  in  the  direction  in  which  he  stood, 
-whether  from  fear  of  her  own  weakness  or  of  the  observa- 
tion of  others,  it  was  impossible  even  to  conjecture,  Again, 
she  passed  the  entrance — the  door  closed  upon  her — and 
Euston  Hastings  turned  away,  feeling  that  he  had  indeed 
seen  her  consigned  to  a  grave. 

If  Euston  Hastings  had  seen  in  Evelyn  the  beauty  of  the 
Christian  faith,  Mrs.  Mabury  had  manifested  to  him  its 
necessity,  as  a  support  even  to  a  strong  mind  when  found 
in  connection  with  lively  sensibilities.  Would  not  that 
wild  flood  of  passion  which  had  swept  her  reason  from  its 
throne,  have  found  an  effectual  barrier  in  the  faith  which 
extends  our  hopes  to  another  world — which  makes  this  but 
the  portal  of  our  existence — which  overarches  the  gloom 
of  earth  with  the  bright  Heaven,  and  places  on  the  Throne 
of  the  universe,  the  Infinitely  Good,  educing  light  from 
darkness,  order  from  confusion,  and  from  partial  disturbance, 
everlasting  peace? 

The  morning  succeeding  the  event  that  had  awakened 
these  reflections,  found  him  seated  with  Evelyn  in  the 
saloon  adjoining  her  chamber,  engaged  in  the  examination 
of  a  catalogue  of  books,  written  to  establish  the  truth  of 
Christianity,  when  a  servant  entered  to  announce  a  clergy- 
man, whose  church  Evelyn  had  attended  since  her  restora- 
tion to  health. 

"Shall  I  excuse  myself?"  asked  Evelyn,  seeing  him  so 
much  engaged. 

"  By  no  means.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him — he  may  give 
me  some  assistance  in  my  present  design." 

Mr.  Calton  was  introduced.  He  was  a  man  of  midd/e 
age,  whose  ample  brow  and  kindly  exjression  of  face,  be- 
tokened a  fine  intellect  and  a  benevolent  »eart. 

After  some  desultory  conversation,  Eu&ton  Hastings  said, 
"  I  have  lately  been  led  to  look  somewhat  more  attentively 


CHARMS  AND   COUNTER-CHARMS.  369 

than  I  have  ever  before  done  at  the  Christian  faith.  I  ad- 
mire its  system  of  morals,  and  would  gladly  convince  my- 
self of  its  truth,  but  unfortunately  for  me,  as  you  will 
probably  think,  my  reason  is  little  under  the  control  of  my 
feelings.  I  cannot  believe  except  on  evidence.  I  have, 
therefore,  obtained  a  catalogue  of  the  most  celebrated  books 
written  in  support  of  Christianity,  and  was  about  making  a 
selection  from  them,  when  you  entered.  You  would  oblige 
me  very  much,  by  pointing  out  those  among  them  that  are 
most  worthy  of  attention." 

Mr.  Calton  took  the  catalogue  in  his  hand,  glanced  at  it 
a  moment,  and  then  said  with  a  smile,  "  I  doubt  whether 
any  or  all  of  these  books  would  convince  you  of  the  truth 
of  Christianity." 

"  Are  they  not  the  best  on  the  subject  ?"  asked  Euston 
Hastings,  "  or  do  you  mean  to  intimate  thai  I  am  beyond 
the  reach  of  conviction?" 

"  Neither — the  books  are  very  good,  and  some  of  them 
you  would  read,  I  doubt  not,  with  profit ;  but  it  is  by  prac- 
tising, or  striving  to  practise  the  Christian  virtues,  not  by 
studying  the  Christian  evidences,  that  we  become  convinced 
of  the  truth  of  Christianity." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you — will  you  be  pleased  to  ex- 
plain yourself?" 

"  Christianity,  you  know,  professes  to  bring  to  us  a  reve- 
lation of  the  spiritual  world,  and  to  bestow  on  us  a  perfect 
system  of  morals.  Now  in  the  nature  of  things  we  can 
have  no  proof  of  the  truth  of  the  first,  and  none  so  conclu- 
sive of  the  last  as  its  perfect  adaptation  to  all  the  necessities, 
in  all  their  ramified  relations,  of  those  for  whom  it  was  in- 
tended, as  the  light  and  order  and  peace  which  its  practice 
diffuses.  It  is  to  those  who  do  the  will  of  His  Father,  that 
the  Divine  Author  cf  our  faith  promises  a  knowledge  of  the 
truth." 


870  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


"  Some  study  is  necessary  to  ascertain  what  that  will  is" 
said  Euston  Hastings. 

"  You  need  for  this  only  one  book — the  Bible." 

"  Of  that  I  have  read  much  already  with  great  pleasure, 
though  some  parts  were  quite  unintelligible  to  me." 

"  It  will  bear  to  be  read  many  times,  and  its  most  ob- 
scure passages  will  sometimes  acquire  light  from  a  know- 
ledge of  the  proper  chronological  arrangement  of  its  parts, 
and  of  the  state  of  the  world  at  the  time  each  was  writ- 
ten." 

"  And  how  is  this  to  be  gained  ?" 

"  From  certain  books,  some  of  which  I  see  here,  and  will, 
with  your  permission,  mark." 

"  I  will  thank  you  to  do  so." 

Mr.  Calton  complied,  and  Euston  Hastings  resumed  the 
conversation  by  saying,  "  You  advised  me  just  now  to  prac- 
tise all  the  Christian  virtues — " 

"  Pardon  me,"  interposed  Mr.  Calton ;  "  I  said  strive  to 
practise  them." 

"  Well — strive  to  practise — I  do  not  perceive  the  differ- 
ence— but  in  what  do  Christian  virtues  differ  from  others  ? 
Do  you  mean  to  designate  as  virtues  the  conventual  seclu- 
sion of  some  sects,  or  the  rigid  outward  observances  of 
others — the  fasts  and  self-denying  ordinances  of  our  Puri- 
tan ancestors,  for  instance  ?" 

"  No — I  alluded  by  that  expression  to  no  outward  obser- 
vances, but  to  the  morality  of  Christianity  as  distinguished 
from  that  of  Paganism." 

"  In  what  do  they  differ  ?" 

"  In  their  whole  spirit — in  Paganism,  self  was  deified.  A 
man  was  brave  and  patriotic, — he  despised  pain,  he  achieved 
difficult  tasks,  and  suppressed  or  annihilated  giant  evils,  be- 
cause in  so  doing  he  gained  honor — he  exalted  HIMSELF.  In 
Christianity,  we  live  not  unto  ourselves,  but  unto  Ilim  who, 


CHARMd  AN1>  COUNTRR-CHARMS.         871 

having  attracted  us  by  the  beauty  of  holiness  as  exhibited 
in  his  life,  has  sealed  us  His  by  dying  to  save  us.  As  we 
strive  in  vain  to  attain  to  this  perfect  pattern,  we  become 
humble — a  virtue  which  Paganism  never  knew— then  pure, 
peaceable,  gentle,  easy  to  be  entreated,  without  partiality, 
and  without  hypocrisy.  Compare  this  sketch  with  our  high- 
est ideal  of  Pagan  virtue,  and  see  how  they  differ." 

Euston  Hastings  did  not  answer,  but  a  deeper  gravity, 
almost  an  expression  of  discontent,  stole  over  his  face. 
Christianity  was  to  him  as  a  beautiful  abstraction,  an  inter- 
esting subject  of  intellectual  analysis  ;  but  to  submit  his  own 
conduct  to  it  as  a  rule  of  life,  was  quite  another  thing.  To 
be  a  Christian  meant,  with  him,  simply  to  acknowledge  the 
claims  of  the  Christian  faith  to  the  assent  of  his  understand- 
ing. Should  he  ever  perceive  its  more  spiritual  meaning,  it 
must  be  after  repeated  trials  should  have  prostrated  his 
self-dependence,  and  made  him  feel  the  need  of  more  thaa 
mortal  power  to  sustain  mortal  ill.  Years  of  dark  wander- 
ing in  a  land  of  shadows,  in  which  his  lonely  soul  would  seek 
with  bitter  pride  to  conquer  for  itself  the  peace  that  is  only 
God-given,  still  awaited  him — years  of  that  hope  deferred 
which  maketh  the  heart  sick  still  remained  for  Evelyn  as  the 
consequence  of  those  "mere  errors  of  opinion"  of  which 
she  had  thought  so  lightly  when  Everard  Irving  had  pressed 
them  on  her  notice. 

For  the  present,  the  most  active  desire  of  Euston  Hastings 
was  to  escape  from  Paris.  He  could  not  forget  Mrs.  Ma- 
bury  so  near  the  scene  of  their  last  meeting — the  prison  to 
which  she  had  doomed  herself  for  life.  Her  end  had  been 
attained,  and  she  might  have  exulted  could  she  have  known 
how  constantly  her  form  was  at  his  side,  her  voice  in  his  ears. 
The  music  she  had  loved  he  could  not  hear  without  pain — 
the  gay  scenes  in  which  she  had  so  long  been  his  companion, 
he  shrank  from  entering.  Only  at  Evelyn's  side  was  he 


372  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

free  from  her  haunting  presence.  At  her  voice  the  de.rk 
reproachful  vision  fled. 

These  feelings  were  never  acknowledged.  His  brow  was 
as  haughty,  his  step  as  firm  as  ever ;  but  the  eye  of  love 
cannot  be  deceived.  Evelyn  saw  that  he  was  unhappy,  and 
she  was  not  surprised  when  he  proposed  returning  to  Amer- 
ica. The  proposal  was  welcomed  by  all,  except,  perhaps, 
Mr.  Manelli,  who  had  hoped  to  revisit  his  native  land  in 
company  with  his  most  valued  pupil,  to  whom  he  would 
have  delighted  to  display  its  treasures  of  art.  He  did  not, 
however,  express  the  wish,  or  repine  outwardly  at  its  disap- 
pointment. Mary  had  her  own  reasons  for  being  pleased  at 
a  return  which  she  would  not  herself  have  proposed ;  and 
Mr.  Beresford,  though  greatly  improved  in  health,  longed 
again  for  the  quiet  of  his  home,  and  the  accustomed  occu- 
pations of  his  library.  He  stipulated,  however,  to  return 
by  the  way  of  London,  and  spend  a  few  weeks  there.  As 
Euston  Hastings  readily  acquiesced  in  this,  their  arrange- 
ments were  made  accordingly.  A  single  week  of  prepara- 
tion in  Paris,  during  which  Evelyn  should  see  what  still 
remained  unseen  of  its  objects  of  interest,  and  then  they 
would  go  to  London,  and  before  the  summer  came  they 
would  be  again  in  America,  having  passed  one  year — 
crowded  with  how  much  of  life  ! — abroad. 

Once  more,  ere  the  day  of  his  departure  came,  Euston 
Hastings  sought  the  residence  of  the  American  minister. 
It  was  to  ask  that  he  would  see  Mrs.  Mabury  again,  and 
would  place  in  her  hands  a  letter  with  which  he  intrusted 
him,  adding  the  hope  that  he  would  so  far  interest  himself 
in  her  welfare,  as  to  promise  his  aid  to  her  if  she  were  wil- 
ling to  accept  it  for  her  liberation.  This  pledge  was 
readily  given ;  and  with  it  Euston  Hastings  was  compelled 
to  be  satisfied.  The  letter  he  had  left  for  Mrs.  Mabury  was 
as  follows : — 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  373 

"And  so,  Estelle,  you  have  at  last  withdrawn  the  mask, 
and  shown  me  that  the  gay  insouciance,  the  philosophic 
calmness  which  won  my  admiration,  were  but  a  skilful 
seeming.  I  should  perhaps  thank  you  for  thus  undeceiving 
me,  yet  I  can  at  present  think  only  of  the  beautiful  vision 
which  seemed  to  me  a  reality,  but  which  your  own  words 
have  consigned  to  the  region  of  unsubstantial  shadows. 
You  have  often  said,  Estelle,  that  the  first  principle  of  your 
tactics  was  to  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's  country  :  you 
have  certainly  practised  it  most  decidedly  in  the  present 
instance.  Were  I  disposed  to  recriminate,  I  might  say  to 
you  that,  having  tendered  you  the  highest  expression  of 
attachment  which  man  could  give, — having  continued,  when 
rejected  as  a  lover,  to  bestow  on  you  the  confidence  and  re- 
gard of  no  ordinary  friendship, — having  still  turned  to  you  for 
consolation,  when  disappointed  in  other  hopes,  and  having 
been  deserted  by  you  when  that  consolation  was  most 
needed, — I  might  be  supposed  myself  to  have  some  small 
reason  of  complaint.  But  I  am  not  disposed  to  recrimi- 
nate, Estelle.  It  is  a  style  of  eloquence  in  which  your  sex 
are  always  most  successful:  it  would  be  unwise  in  me, 
therefore,  to  attempt  it.  Besides,  I  have  other  objects  in 
•writing  you. 

"  EstelK  let  us  bury  the  past.  Listen  no  longer  to  the 
dictates  of  that  pride  from  which  we  have  both  already 
suffered  so  much.  Banish  the  false  idea — the  offspring  of 
a  conventionalism  to  which  I  believed  you  superior — that 
there  is  any  thing  in  the  records  of  my  memory  that  can 
awaken  a  sentiment  towards  you  bearing  the  slightest  affin- 
ity to  scorn.  Satisfied  that  this  cannot  be,  Estelle,  will 
you  not  revoke  the  decision  pronounced  under  so  false  an 
impression'? — a  decision  as  cruel  to  yourself  as  to  me.  If, 
indeed,  it  is  your  will  that  we  should  never  meet  again, 
surely,  Estelle,  the  world  is  wide  enough  to  permit  the 
32 


374  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

separation,  without  your  burying  yourself  in  the  gloom  of 
a  cloister 

"  I  have,  so  far,  preserved  that  calm  reasoning  tone  which 
I  have  been  accustomed  to  regard  as  most  powerful  over 
you ;  but  if  this  avail  not,  let  me  pray  you,  by  the  memory 
of  that  friendship  which  has  made  so  large  a  portion  of  our 
lives,  to  recall  a  vow  made  under  the  delusions  of  an  ex- 
cited brain.  Be  generous,  Estelle.  Be  your  own  nobler 
self.  You  have  said  truly,  that  the  life  you  have  so  rashly 
chosen  will  be  to  you  a  living  death.  The  thought  that  I 
have  been,  even  through  the  medium  of  your  own  disc 
turbed  imagination,  the  means  of  condemning  you  to  it, 
will  poison  every  joy  that  life  may  held  among  its  yet 
sealed  treasures  for  me.  For  my  sake,  then,  forbear. 

"  This  letter  will  be  handed  to  you  by  the  American  min- 
ister. Only  signify  to  him  now,  before  your  novitiate  is 
accomplished,  your  readiness  to  leave  the  convent,  and  he 
will  secure  your  freedom.  You  may  do  so,  Estelle,  without 
danger  of  meeting  me ;  for  when  you  receive  this,  I  shall 
already  have  left  Paris — and,  except  by  your  own  wish, 
will  never  again  appear  before  you ;  though  I  shall  ever 
remain,  with  the  truest  friendship  as  well  as  the  deepest 
respect, 

"  Yours, 

'E.  HASTINGS." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  375 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

"  Like  a  white  swan  down  a  troubled  stream, 
So  thou,  with  queenly  grace  and  gentle  pride, 
Along  the  world's  dark  Waves  ill  purity  dost  glide." 

MRS.  NORTON. 

THE  last  evening  which  our  party  designed  to  spend  in 
Paris  had  arrived.  They  had  finished  their  work  there. 
Their  last  visit  had  been  paid  ;  their  last  tour  of  observation 
made  ;  even  their  last  purchase  sent  home  and  packed ;  and 
they  were  experiencing  that  feeling  of  ennui  which  is  the 
invariable  attendant  of  want  of  occupation,  when  a  package 
of  letters  from  home  was  delivered  to  them.  Never  did 
letters  arrive  more  opportunely.  Mary  retired  at  once  to 
her  own  room,  with  two  that  were  addressed  to  her.  They 
were  from  Aspasie  Manelli  and  Everard  Irving.  The  last 
was  read  first ;  and  so  much  of  its  contents  as  depicted  his 
own  life  during  her  absence,  we  will  lay  before  the  reader. 

"  New  York,  Jan.  12th,  182—. 
"  DEAR  MARY, — 

"Although  nothing  wa'  said  of  our  corresponding  when 
we  parted,  I  flatter  myself  that  no  apology  is  necessary 
for  writing  to  so  early  and  true  a  friend.  I  have  even 
persuaded  myself  that  you  will  have  expected  to  hear 
from  me  before  this  letter  will  arrive,  and  that  I  ought 
to  inform  you  that  only  my  uncertainty  respecting  your 
movements — an  uncertainty  which  Mr.  Manelli's  last  let- 


376  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

ter  to  Aspasie,  has  relieved — has  prevented  my  writing 
you  before.  Certainly  I  cannot  plead  the  excuse  for  silence 
•which  was  most  common  with  us  in  our  schooldays,  that 
'  we  had  nothing  to  write ;'  for  never  have  I  lived  so  full 
and  true  and  satisfying  a  life  as  during  the  last  six  months. 

"Do  you  remember  our  last  conversation  on  the  bank  of 
the  river,  at  Beresford  Hall  ?  '  I  rejoice,'  said  you,  '  that 
you  have  found  the  true  secret  of  happiness — work  for 
noble  ends.'  It  was  premature  rejoicing  as  I  told  you 
then,  Mary.  I  was  then  working  only  that  I  might  live, 
but  a  fuller  study  and  longer  practice  of  my  profession 
have  revealed  to  me  so  many  abuses  to  be  corrected,  so 
many  evils  to  which  a  thorough  understanding  and  just  ap- 
preciation of  law,  will  bring  the  best  remedy,  that  I  can 
truly  say,  I  now  live  to  worn.  I  am  more  and  more 
ashamed  every  day  of  the  egotism,  the  narrowness  of 
mind  which  could  see  only  my  own  low,  little  wants  amidst 
such  noble  incentives  to  action :  my  own  profits  amongst 
results  so  wide-extended  and  so  important  to  humanity. 
In  America,  especially,  do  I  feel  that  there  is  no  excuse 
for  egotism  or  indolence.  Here,  ignorance  to  be  taught, 
poverty  to  be  relieved,  vice  to  be  repressed,  and  injustice 
to  be  rectified,  lie  all  around  us — not  fenced  off  and  dwell- 
ing apart  from  '  the  respectable  classes,'  as  in  other  lands,  but 
coming  in  actual  contact  with  us  at  every  turn.  Europe  is 
pouring  upon  our  shores  its  ignorant  and  corrupt  and 
despairing  population ;  we  must  either  bend  all  our  ener- 
gies to  enlighten,  to  purify,  and  to  elevate  them,  or  we 
must  relinquish  our  free  republican  government  as  a  Utopian 
dream,  for  such  men  cannot  govern  themselves. 

"  I  blush  when  I  think  of  all  this,  to  remember  how 
many  months — but  for  the  sudden  loss  of  fortune  it  might 
have  been  years — of  life  I  flung  away  in  selfish  sorrow,  for 
my  own  wrecked  hopes.  Well  is  it  for  us,  that  the  Ruler 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  377 

of  our  lives  is  not  such  a  one  as  ourselves,  or  He  would 
oftener  punish  our  mad,  rebellious  resistance  to  His  will, 
by  surrendering  us  to  our  fancied  joys,  which  would  some- 
times prove  our  sorest  punishment. 

"  I  have  told  you  of  my  inner  life,  and  of  the  outer,  I 
have  little  to  tell.  I  have  my  home  still  with  our  friend 
Aspasie,  and  my  business  prospers.  I  made  my  deb&t  as  a 
lawyer,  in  a  manner  which  excited  no  little  amusement 
among  my  professional  brethren.  An  old  friend  of  your 
father  had,  for  his  sake  doubtless,  placed  in  my  hands  a 
case  involving  considerable  property.  The  opposing  party 
was  a  man  I  knew,  and  one  of  the  most  wrong-headed, 
right-hearted  men  in  the  world.  From  the  clearness  of  the 
law  in  the  case,  I  was  convinced  that  he  was  acting  under 
some  false  impression,  and  that  he  would  be  compelled,  if 
the  business  were  carried  into  court,  to  pay  large  costs,  in 
addition  to  other  expenses,  which  I  believed  he  could  ill 
afford,  and  all  on  a  question  which,  if  settled  in  his  favor, 
would  benefit  him  little,  though  it  would  injure  his  an- 
tagonist much.  I  saw  him,  and  after  one  or  two  stormy 
interviews,  succeeded  in  making  him  hear  me — exposed  to 
him  the  utter  untenableness  of  his  case,  and  induced  him 
to  withdraw  his  suit.  A  peacemaker,  I  was  told,  would 
prove  a  somewhat  unprofitable  character  for  a  lawyer, 
to  which  I  replied,  that  peacemaker  was  but  another  name 
for  Christian,  and  if  the  characters  of  Christian  and  lawyer 
were  incompatible,  I  must  only  cease  to  be  a  lawyer. 
Those  who  made  merry  with  my  new  mode  of  practising 
law,  have  been  disappointed  in  one  of  their  prognostica- 
tions. I  have  not  had  less  but  more  business  in  conse- 
quence of  it.  Both  the  gentlemen  concerned  have  taken  a 
warm  and  active  interest  in  my  success,  and  persons  gen- 
erally seem  by  no  means  indisposed  to  intrust  their  in- 
terests to  one  who  has  shown  that  he  was  willing  to  a 
32* 


378  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

his  clients  the  cost  and  annoyance  of  litigation,  even  at  the 
expense  of  diminishing  his  own  fees. 

"  I  have  written  altogether  of  myself,  both  because  I 
have  the  vanity  to  hope  that  the  subject  will  interest  you, 
and  because  my  life  is  at  present  too  unsocial  to  offer  any 
variety  of  topics.  I  have  formed  an  acquaintance  lately 
with  one  interesting  family,  some  of  whose  members  I  hope 
one  day  to  introduce  to  you." 

A  few  unimportant  particulars  respecting  Aspasie,  expres- 
sions of  interest  for  Mr.  Manelli,  Mr.  Beresford  and  his  daugh- 
ter, and  assurances  of  sincere  and  warm  regard  for  Mary,  con- 
cluded the  letter.  Over  this  letter  Mary  lingered  long,  but  at 
length  it  was  laid  aside  and  that  from  Aspasie  was  opened. 

Aspasie  wrote  cheerfully  of  herself  and  her  prospects, 
gave  a  playful  description  of  the  peculiarities  of  some  of 
her  present  family,  and  then  spoke  of  Everard  Irving — of 
his  reported  powers  as  a  speaker,  of  his  success  in  business, 
of  his  improved  spirits,  and  lastly,  of  that  to  which  she 
attributed  the  improvement.  On  this  last  topic  she  did  not 
write  very  clearly,  but  her  hints  and  dark  sayings  conveyed 
to  Mary  the  impression  that  there  was  in  New  York  a  very 
interesting  young  lady,  on  whose  father  Everard  Irving  had 
conferred  important  benefits,  which  she  retrnid  by  her  love. 
"  This,"  she  added,  "  is  almost  the  only  family  Avhich  Mr. 
Irving  visits  intimately" — 

Mary  had  remembered  the  "interesting  family"  with 
which  he  had  "lately  formed  an  acquaintance,"  and  she 
turned  again  to  the  passage  in  his  letter  that  alluded  to 
them.  She  read — "some  of  whose  members  I  hope  one 
day  to  introduce  to  you." 

"  One  of  whose  members,  he  should  have  written,"  said 
Mary  to  herself,  "  as  his  wife,  doubtless.  Well,  I  hope  he 
will  be  happy." 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  379 

Mary  sat  long  in  deep  thought,  with  her  letters  tying 
unheeded  on  her  lap.  When  she  arose,  it  was  to  seek  Mr. 
Manelli. 

"  You  have  no  bad  news,  I  hope,"  he  said,  looking  doubt- 
fully into  her  grave  face,  as  she  entered. 

"  Oh,  no  !  my  news  is  all  good,  and  Aspasie  writes  so 
cheerfully,  and  seems  to  do  so  well  without  you,  that  it 
encourages  me  to  ask  you  to  change  your  plans,  and  instead 
of  accompanying  the  rest  of  the  party  home  immediately, 
to  go  into  Italy  with  me,  and  show  me  all  the  beauties  of 
your  own  land.  I  shall  never  probably  return  to  Europe, 
and  to  go  home  now,  and  leave  Switzerland  and  Germany 
and  Italy  unvisited,  would  be  almost  inexcusable." 

Mr.  Manelli  was  delighted,  and  the  rest  of  her  party  only 
wondered  that  Mary  had  not  before  expressed  so  natural  a 
desire.  The  good  woman  who  had  accompanied  Evelyn 
from  Italy  was  quite  willing  to  return  there  with  Mary,  and 
joining  a  party  of  English,  with  some  of  whom  Euston 
Hastings  was  acquainted,  she  and  Mr.  Manelli  turned  their 
faces  southward  very  soon  after  their  friends  had  left  Paris 
in  the  opposite  direction  for  England. 

Minutely  to  trace  the  steps  of  either  party  is  not  our 
intention.  In  a  few  weeks  Beresford  Hall  was  again  ten- 
anted. Mr.  Beresford — changed  only  in  the  snowy  white- 
ness that  had  displaced  every  trace  of  black  from  his  hair 
— look  his  accustomed  place  in  his  library  with  a  quiet  sat- 
isfaction that  showed  itself  in  every  word  and  look  and 
movement.  The  very  day  of  their  arrival  he  requested  a 
few  minutes'  private  conversation  with  Euston  Hastings. 
They  met  in  the  library.  As  Euston  Hastings  entered, 
Mr.  Beresford  advanced  to  meet  him  with  an  outstretched 
hand. 

"Mr.  Hastings,"  he  said,  "I  throw  myself  upon  your 
mercy — I  entreat  you  do  not  take  Evelyn  from  me.  Nay, 


380  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS 

hear  me  out — wherever  you  go  there  must  Evelyn  follow — • 
she  would  be  miserable  separated  from  you ;  but  I  shall  be 
equally  miserable  apart  from  her.  All  I  have  will  one  day 
be  yours — let  Beresford  Hall  become  so  from  this  moment, 
and  allow  me  to  be  your  guest — or,  if  you  prefer  the 
city — " 

"No,  Mr.  Beresford,"  said  Euston  Hastings,  touched 
more  by  Mr.  Beresford's  confidence  than  even  by  his  liberali- 
ty, "  our  home  will  be  here  in  your  own  Beresford  Hall., 
Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  usurp  the  place  of  master, 
which  you  fill  so  nobly !  I  am  and  will  be  your  guest, 
except  for  two  or  three  months  of  the  winter,  when  I  hope 
you  will  not  refuse  to  accompany  us  to  the  city." 

When  this  conversation  was  reported  to  Evelyn,  she  felt 
that  her  happiness  was  perfect;  but  as  week  after  week 
passed  by,  and  the  shadow  which  had  darkened  the  brow  of 
Euston  Hastings  from  his  meeting  with  Mrs.  Mabury  in  Paris 
still  lay  there — charmed  away,  it  is  true,  at  times  by  her 
gentle  influence,  but  only  to  return  with  denser  gloom — a 
truer  estimate  of  earthly  joy  arose  within  her,  and  "  Shall  I 
receive  good  at  the  hand  of  the  Lord,  and  shall  I  not  re- 
ceive evil?"  became  the  language  of  her  humbled  heart. 
"  My  consoler !"  was  an  epithet  by  which  her  husband 
often  addressed  her  now,  and  it  was  that  which  she  best 
loved  to  hear  from  his  lips.  Trembling  was  mixed  with  all 
her  joy,  for  though  Euston  Hastings  no  longer  mocked  at 
the  Christian's  faith — though  he  read  with  apparent  interest 
the  book  in  which  it  was  revealed,  studied  perseveringly 
those  proofs  of  the  authenticity  of  that  revelation  which 
Mr.  Calton  had  recommended,  and  maintained  a  frequent 
correspondence  with  that  gentleman,  Evelyn  knew  that 
there  was  still  no  full  assent  of  his  understanding  to  the 
truth — no  surrender  of  his  heart  to  its  influences,  and  she 
had  learned  that  the  only  stable  foundation  for  human  con- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  381 

duct  was  to  be  found  in  love  and  obedience  to  the  law  of 
Heaven,  embodied  in  that  truth. 

For  six  months  Mary  Raymond  and  Mr.  Manelli  travelled 
through  scenes  which  had  been  to  her  as  a  lovely  dream, 
and  were  to  him  full  of  pleasant  memories.  To  him  it  was 
a  season  of  quiet,  undisturbed  rest  after  long  labor.  He 
would  willingly  have  extended  its  duration.  But  ere  the 
six  months  were  concluded,  somewhat  of  dissatisfaction 
mingled  with  Mary's  enjoyment.  She  was  not  resting  after 
labor — she  was  not  recruiting  exhausted  health  and  energy 
— she  was  spending  the  prime  of  life,  the  season  of  vigorous 
action,  in  self-indulgence,  while  at  home,  as  Everard  Irving 
had  written,  there  was  a  mass  of  ignorance  to  be  taught, 
of  poverty  to  be  relieved,  and  vice  to  be  repressed, — which 
needed  the  zealous  and  untiring  action  of  every  Christian 
heart.  As  she  marked  the  squalid  misery  that  moved  side  by 
side  with  princely  luxury  in  other  lands,  she  said  to  herself, 
"  It  is  from  selfishness  such  as  I  am  exhibiting — from  forget- 
fulness  of  the  poor,  who  were  left  with  us  by  their  and  our 
Master  for  good  to  both,  that  inequalities  so  shameful  to 
Christian  lands  have  arisen." 

From  such  suggestions  arose  Mary's  plan  of  life  for  the 
future.  She  resolved  that  she  would  no  longer  live  in  any 
way  for  herself — she  would  return  to  America,  and  establish 
herself  in  her  own  early  home  near  Baltimore,  with  Mrs. 
Maclaurin,  if  she  could  induce  that  lady  to  reside  with  her. 
There  she  would  devote  all  her  gifts  of  mind  and  fortune  to 
doing  good.  The  children  of  the  poor  in  her  neighborhood 
she  would  gather  into  a  school,  and  give  some  hours  of 
every  day  to  their  instruction ;  to  the  sick  and  aged  she 
would  supply  the  comforts  they  needed  ;  and  to  all  she 
would  extend  that  support  in  trial  and  encouragement  to 
virtue  which  is  derived  from  the  personal  influence  of  cue 
whose  qualities  and  position  inspire  respect. 


382  CHARMS  A-VD  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

These  designs  were  no  sooner  formed  by  Mary,  than  she 
took  the  first  step  towards  their  execution  by  seeking  the 
approval  and  co-operation  of  Mrs.  Maclaurin.  The  answer 
she  received  was  all  she  desired — full  in  its  approval,  hearty 
in  its  expressions  of  sympathy  and  promises  of  aid.  To  her 
home  in  Baltimore  Mrs.  Maclaurin  had  no  especial  attach- 
ment which  might  have  rendered  her  unwilling  to  exchange 
it  for  one  at  Elmwood,  the  beautiful  country-seat  of  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, at  which  Mary's  earlier  life  had  been  passed. 

Mr.  Martin,  the  former  guardian  of  Mary,  had  consented, 
when  she  became  of  age,  to  continue  his  care  of  her  prop- 
erty as  her  agent;  and  to  him  she  wrote,  communicating 
her  intention  to  reside  there  in  future,  and  requesting  that 
the  house  and  grounds  at  Elmwood  might  be  put  into  good 
order  as  soon  as  possible,  as  she  hoped  to  find  Mrs.  Maclau- 
rin established  there  on  her  arrival.  All  was  done  as  she 
wished,  and  autumn  flowers  were  still  blooming  in  the  gar- 
dens of  her  home  when  she  arrived  in  November. 

Leaving  Mr.  Manelli  in  Baltimore  to  superintend  the  land- 
ing of  their  baggage,  Mary  proceeded  at  once  to  Elmwood. 
She  rejoiced  to  be  thus  alone ;  for  any  human  eye  would 
have  been  an  intolerable  restraint  when  approaching,  for  the 
first  time  after  years  of  absence  and  trial,  to  the  home  of 
her  happy  childhood.  The  road  by  which  she  travelled 
was  familiar  as  an  oft-told  tale — at  every  turn  i*  aroused 
some  new  reminiscence  of  the  loved  and  lost ;  and  when  at 
length  she  caught  in  the  distance  the  chimney-tops  and 
pointed  roof  of  her  home,  through  the  old  elms  that  gave 
their  name  to  the  place,  her  tears  burst  forth  at  the  thought 
that  they  who  had  been  wont  to  welcome  her  most  fondly 
after  the  shortest  absence,  were  no  longer  dwellers  in  its  walls. 

At  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  house  a  gate  gave  en- 
trance to  a  wide  avenue  bordered  also  by  elms.  Here  Mary, 
as  she  had  no  baggage  with  her,  dismissed  the  carriage  ia 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  383 

which  she  had  come,  saying  that  she  would  proceed  to  the 
house  on  foot.  She  waited  in  the  avenue  till  the  coachman 
had  driven  away,  on  his  return  to  the  city,  and  then  turn- 
ing into  a  footpath,  walked  in  the  direction  of  a  wood,  whose 
natural  growth  of  cedar  and  pine  had  been  left  undisturbed. 
The  sunlight,  so  bright  beyond  this  wood,  scarce  entered 
there ;  and  as  Mary  penetrated  deeper  within  its  shadow, 
'her  heart  grew  chill  at  the  silence  and  gloom  around  her. 
She  soon  reached  the  spot  she  sought,  and  stood  beside  the 
neat  enclosure  within  which  lay  her  beloved  parents  and  the 
children  whom  they  had  lost  in  infancy.  Mary  saw  that 
this  spot  had  been  carefully  guarded  during  her  absence ; 
and  bending  her  head  for  a  few  minutes  in  lowly  prayer 
before  the  orphan's  God,  she  pursued  her  way  towards  the 
house,  endeavoring  to  recall  more  cheerful  associations  as 
she  proceeded.  Her  approach  was  first  perceived  by  some 
of  the  old  domestics,  and  their  vociferous  exclamations  of 
delight  and  wonder  at  her  arrival,  drew  forth  Mrs.  Maclau- 
rin,  from  whom  she  received  a  more  quiet  but  not  less  joy- 
ful welcome. 

In  a  few  days,  with  the  aid  of  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  Mary  found 
herself  engaged  in  the  execution  of  her  benevolent  designs; 
Many  hours  of  each  day  were  passed  in  instructing  the  ig- 
norant and  consoling  and  aiding  the  miserable,  who  soon 
learned  to  apply  to  her  for  sympathy  and  relief;  the  re- 
mainder was  given  to  the  claims  of  friendship,  the  improve- 
ment of  her  own  mind,  and  the  cultivation  of  the  art  she 
loved.  In  such  a  life  there  was  no  place  for  morbid  regrets. 
Disappointments  and  discouragements  she  had,  for  she  was 
still  an  inhabitant  of  earth — shadows  from  the  past  some- 
times darkened  her  way;  but  these  were  temporary  and 
accidental.  In  general,  peace  was  within  her  and  light  around 
— the  peace  and  the  light  of  Heaven,  which  the  world  can 
neither  give  nor  take  away. 


384  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  Mark  how  there  still  has  run,  inwoven  from  above, 
Through  thy  life's  darkest  woof  the  golden  thread  of  love." 

R.  C.  FRENCH. 

How  quickly  passes  time  to  those  whose  hearts  are  full 
of  great  objects  which  they  do  not  merely  dream  over,  but 
truly  and  earnestly  strive  to  execute  !  Rapidly  are  they 
sweeping  by  the  objects  of  time  and  sense — rapidly  near- 
ing  the  Infinite  and  Eternal! 

Winter,  spring,  summer  had  passed  over  Mary  as  a 
dream,  and  again  the  glowing  tints  of  autumn  began  to  be 
visible  in  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  in  the  richer  crimson 
and  purple  and  gold  of  the  sunset  clouds,  and  in  the  almost 
equally  brilliant  colors  of  the  forest  leaves.  During  this 
year  she  had  continued  to  correspond  occasionally,  both 
with  Aspasie  Manelli  and  with  Everard  Irving.  With 
Everard,  her  correspondence  had  been  little  satisfactory. 
Afraid  of  saying  too  much — watchful  over -every  expres- 
sion, lest  some  unguarded  word  or  phrase  should  give  the 
key  to  the  one  secret  of  her  life,  Mary's  letters  were  con- 
strained and  cold  beyond  her  own  intentions ;  and  Everard, 
with  somewhat  of  that  sensitiveness  which  is  engendered 
even  in  the  most  confiding  natures  by  change  of  fortune, 
did  not  make  his  usual  efforts  to  dissipate  this  coldness. 

The  weather  this  year  had  been  unusually  fine  during  the 
whole  month  of  October,  and  as  Mary  returned  from  a 
lonely  \\alk  one  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  that  month, 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  385 

she  experienced  some  of  that  buoyant  elasticity  which 
seemed  the  character  of  the  air  she  inhaled.  At  the  en- 
trance to  the  little  shrubbery  through  which  lay  her  path 
to  the  house,  she  found  a  horse  standing. 

"  Our  good  pastor  must  have  ridden  out  from  Baltimore  to 
see  Mrs.  Maclaurm  as  he  promised,"  she  thought,  and  hasten- 
ed in  to  welcome  him.  She  entered  the  parlor  in  which 
she  had  left  her  friend.  She  was  still  there,  and  with 
her — could  it  be? — he  turned  his  head — it  was  Everard 
Irving. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  who  evinced  most  embar- 
rassment at  this  meeting — Everard  who  expected  it,  or 
Mary  to  whom  it  was  so  great  a  surprise.  The  constraint 
which  had  marked  their  correspondence,  was  visible  hi 
their  conversation,  which  was  limited  to  the  most  common- 
place inquiries  and  answers.  Half  an  hour  passed  thus, 
then  they  grew  silent,  and  he  arose. 

"  You  will  not  leave  us,"  said  Mrs.  Maclaurm ;  "  surely 
this  is  near  enough  to  Baltimore  for  the  business  which  you 
say  brought  you." 

"  It  was  here  that  my  business  brought  me,"  he  replied, 
and  though  he  smiled  as  he  said  it,  Mrs.  Maclaurm  thought 
the  smile  was  sad. 

Mary  did  not  speak,  till  turning  to  her,  he  asked,  "  At 
what  hour  to-morrow  can  you  see  me  most  conveniently  on 
this  business  ?" 

"  At  any  hour  you  please." 

"  I  will  be  with  you  then,  at  ten  hi  the  morning  if  you 
permit.  I  would  not  propose  so  early  an  hour,  but  that  I 
Bhal  be  able,  by  doing  so,  to  proceed  homewards  hi  the 
afternoon." 

Mrs.  Maclaurin  looked  at  Mary  with  surprise.  She  ex- 
pected to  hear  her  urge  his  remaining  to-night,  or  his  re- 
turning with  the  design  of  making  a  longer  visit  to-morrow, 
33 


386  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

but  she  did  neither — she  stood  indeed  as  if  bewildered, 
and  answered  only  by  a  bow  to  his  arrangement.  The 
color  rose  to  his  forehead,  and  Mrs.  Maclaurin  sympathized 
with  the  wounded  pride  and  affection  which  she  believed 
that  flush  to  betoken.  He  had  spoken  to  her  of  his  emo- 
tions in  revisiting  that  house — he  had  called  it  his  home — 
the  only  home  he  had  ever  known ;  and  now,  he  had  been 
received  in  it  with  far  less  of  kindness,  or  even  of  courtesy, 
as  Mrs.  Maclauriu  thought,  than  ite  mistress  was  accustomed 
to  show  to  the  merest  stranger. 

Nothing  of  all  this  did  Mrs.  Maclaurin  say  on  this  even- 
ing, but  the  next  morning,  when  she  was  preparing  to  take 
Mary's  place  in  her  little  school,  she  said,  "I  hope  you 
will  not  be  quite  so  cold  to  your  friend,  Mr.  Irving,  as  you 
were  yesterday  evening." 

"  Cold  ! — I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Mary,  coloring. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  wrong  to  remark  on  it,"  Mrs.  Maclaurin 
began ;  but  Mary  interrupted  her  with,  "  Oh  no !  pray  tell 
me  all  you  think." 

"  Then,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Maclaurin  with  a  smile,  "  that 
you  would  scarcely  have  allowed  a  stranger  who  had  any 
claim  on  your  courtesy,  to  leave  your  house  without  an  in- 
vitation to  remain." 

"  You  invited  him  to  stay." 

"  I  am  not  the  mistress  of  the  house." 

"  But  Everard — surely  he  should  wait  for  no  invitation, 
— he  should  be  nearly,  if  not  quite  as  much  at  home  here 
as  I." 

"  He  was  so  once,  but  things  are  changed  with  him  since 
then,  and  changed  in  some  points,  too,  which  probably 
render  him  peculiarly  sensitive  to  coldness." 

Mrs.  Maclaurin  left  the  room  as  she  ceased  speaking,  and 
Mary  was  alone  with  no  very  pleasant  subject  for  her 
thoughts.  She  had  then  been  unkind  to  Everard,  while 


CHARMS   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  387 


she  was  only  fearful  of  betraying  how  much  pleasure  his 
presence  gave  her.  Here  was  but  another  form  of  that  self- 
ishness which  it  had  been  the  labor  of  her  life  to  subdue. 
She  determined  that  no  fear  for  herself  should  prevent  her 
making  the  amende. 

Mary  had  scarcely  made  this  resolution,  when  Everard 
entered.  His  countenance  was  grave,  and  his  manner  at 
first  somewhat  formal,  but  Mary  met  him  with  an  out- 
stretched hand,  and  though  the  color  rose  to  her  cheek, 
and  he  might  almost  have  seen  her  heart  beat,  she  com- 
manded her  voice  to  the  utterance  of  a  frank  and  cordial 
greeting. 

"  Before  we  say  a  word  of  business,  Everard,  you  must 
let  me  order  your  horse  to  be  put  up." 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary,  Mary,"  he  said,  laying  his 
hand  upon  hers,  as  she  would  have  rung  the  bell ;  "  I  must 
return  to  Baltimore  by  noon." 

"  Surely,  Everard,  you  may  spare  one  day  in  a  year  to 
your  home.  You  gave  me  pain  by  going  away  yesterday 
evening — you  will  wound  me  yet  more  deeply,  if  you  refuse 
to  remain  with  us  to-day." 

"  Wound  you,  Mary  !  that  I  should  be  loth  indeed  to  do 
— you  who  have  been  so  true  and  generous  a  friend — you 
to  whom  I  owe  it  that  misfortune  did  not  fall  on  me  with 
so  stunning  a  blow,  as  to  crush  at  once  hope  and  life  from 
my  heart." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Everard  ?"  asked  Mary,  falteringly. 

"  That  I  know  all,  Mary — the  sacrifice  you  made  for  me 
— the  greater  sacrifice  you  would  have  made  had  Mr.  Beres- 
ford  permitted.  The  pecuniary  debt  thus  incurred  I  come 
now  to  repay ;  but,  Mary,  I  can  never  either  cancel  or  for- 
get your  generous  and  delicate  kindness." 

"And  you  learned  all  this  from  Mr.  Beresford?"  said 
Mary,  in  a  tone  which  showed  that  she  felt  no  little  dispo- 


388  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS 

sition  to  reproach  that  gentleman  for  his  betrayal  of  confi- 
dence. 

"Yes,"  replied  Everard  ;  "but  only  when  he  could  no 
longer  honestly  withhold  the  information  from  me.  The 
one  office  in  which  those  unfortunate  stores  of  mine  were 
insured,  has  resumed  payment,  contrary  to  all  expectation ; 
and  I  have  received  from  it  the  full  amount  of  its  insurance 
— ten  thousand  dollars.  In  winding  up  this  business,  I  re- 
quired to  see  Banker's  books.  He  hesitated  to  show  them  ; 
but  I  insisted,  and  found  Mr.  Beresford's  advances  entered 
on  them.  I  hastened  to  pay  him,  and  learned  that  he  was 
only  your  agent.  Here,  Mary,  is  a  check  for  the  amount, 
principal  and  interest,  ." 

"  Oh  Everard  !"  exclaimed  Mary,  putting  aside  the  hand 
which  presented  the  check,  "  do  not  speak  to  me  of  debt 
and  payment  as  if  we  were  strangers — here,  too,  hi  our 
home,  where  all  we  had  was  shared.  Everard,  we  were 
brother  and  sister  then — let  us  be  so  now." 

She  looked  pleadingly  in  his  face,  while  tears  gathered 
m  her  eyes.  Everard  Irving  gazed  on  her  earnestly  for  & 
moment — then  averted  his  face  with  a  sad  expression. 

Mary  continued,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  emotion — "I  fear 
I  have  offended  you.  I  fear  I  have  sometimes  been  cold  and 
distant  to  you ;  but  only  treat  me  as  a  brother  now,  and  I  will 
ever  be  a  true  sister  to  you — share  with  me  as  a  brother — " 

"  Mary !"  said  Everard,  in  a  husky  and  agitated  voice, 
"  it  cannot  be — I  can  never  more  be  your  brother." 

"  Everard !  have  I  indeed  so  deeply  displeased  you  ?" 

"Displeased  me!  What  could  give  rise  to  such  a 
fancy?" 

"  Did  you  not  say  you  could  never  again  be  a  brother  to 
me?" 

"  Because  I  love  you,  Mary,  as  brother  never  loved.  It 
would  be  happiness  indeed  to  be  your  brother — your  guide 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  389 

— your  protector ;  but  I  dare  not  trust  myself.  Your  calm, 
sisterly  affection  would  not  satisfy  me — my  jealous,  exacting 
attachment  would  disturb  the-  serenity  of  your  life.  Even 
now,  Mary,  I  have  distressed  you." 

She  had  sunk  into  a  chair,  and  leaning  her  arms  upon 
a  table  near  her,  had  covered  her  face  with  her  clasped 
hands 

"  Forgive  me,  Mary,  a  confession  which  has  been  wrung 
from  me  by  the  fear  that  you  would  think  me  cold,  insen- 
sible to  your  kindness.  No — I  cannot  be  your  brother 
— you  see  it  now,  Mary — I  should  wound  you  thus  for- 
ever." 

He  was  silent ;  but  Mary  neither  spoke  nor  stirred.  At 
length  she  felt  that  lie  was  approaching  her — that  he  stood 
beside  her ;  yet  he  spoke  not  till  many  minutes,  as  it  seemed 
to  her,  had  passed  away.  Then  in  low,  sad  tones,  he  asked, 
"  Will  you  not  look  on  me,  Mary,  and  give  me  your  hand 
in  token  of  forgiveness  before  I  go  ?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  almost  whispered  Mary. 

"  Then  we  part  in  peace — Heaven  bless  you  for  that ! — 
Farewell !" 

"  Why  must  you  go  ?" 

Mary  stretched  out  her  hand  as  if  to  detain  him,  though 
still  averting  her  face  from  his  gaze. 

"  Why  must  I  go  ?     Have  you  not  heard  me,  Mary  ?" 

"  I  heard — but — if — I  too — " 

She  could  not  proceed ;  but  it  was  unnecessary.  There 
is  language  more  expressive  and  more  convincing,  as  it  is 
more  spiritual  than  words.  Perhaps  Everard  himself  knew 
not  how  hope  flashed  on  his  mind  at  one  moment,  and 
became  certainty  the  next.  We  only  know  that  Mrs. 
Maclaurin's  benevolent  interest  in  him  was  gratified  by  find- 
ing him  still  there  on  her  return,  and  that  during  the  day 
she  had  the  still  further  pleasure  of  learning  that  he  had 
33* 


390  CHARMS  AND.  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

sent  to  Baltimore  for  his  baggage,  and  would  remain  at 
Elmwood  for  several  days.  Nor  was  she  long  left  in  doubt 
of  the  attraction  which  detained  him :  ere  she  slept  that 
night  Mary  had  communicated  to  her  the  result  of  the  morn- 
ing's interview,  and  had  found,  in  her  approbation  and  bless- 
ing, the  only  increase  to  her  happiness  which  it  was  possible 
for  earth  to  confer. 

The  next  day  Everard  Irving  had  a  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Maclaurin,  some  part  of  which  may  perhaps  interest  the 
reader.  He  had  been  speaking  of  the  gradual  conquest 
which  Mary  had  made  of  his  heart,  and  alluding  to  the  new 
and  nobler  character  which  seemed  to  him  to  have  been  de- 
veloped in  her  mind,  and  to  have  impressed  itself  on  her 
person  and  manner  when  he  saw  her  in  Baltimore  at  the 
time  of  Mr.  Beresford's  accident,  he  said,  "  I  should  have 
loved  her  then,  had  not  my  heart  been  preoccupied." 

"  You  acknowledge,  then,  that  your  heart  was  in  your 
first  engagement,"  observed  Mrs.  Maclaurin,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes — I  loved  Evelyn  Beresford  with  all  the  truth  and 
ardor  of  an  enthusiastic  boy;  yet  long  since,  before  I 
dreamed  that  a  richer  treasure  was  in  store  for  me,  I  had 
learned  to  rejoice  that  this  love  had  not  been  successful. 
Her  character,  I  am  told,  has  been  developed  into  rare  ex- 
cellence ;  but  this  has  been  under  trials  which,  with  me,  she 
could  never  have  known :  and  "such  as  she  was,  she  would 
either  have  checked  the  expansion  of  my  own  nature,  or  she 
would  have  failed  to  meet  its  demands." 

"  It  is  well  when  we  see  that  for  us  God  hath  done  all 
things  well." 

"  It  is — and  this  I  can  do.  Sheltered  in  my  boyhood  by 
the  kindest  and  most  liberal  of  friends,  what  seemed  the 
misfortunes  of  my  life  formed  the  very  discipline  necessary 
to  wake  up  my  self-indulgent  nature  to  a  sense  of  the  deep 
responsibilities  incident  to  my  being,  and  the  lofty  attain- 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  391 

ments  of  which  it  was  capable.  And  now  what  a  treasure 
has  been  bestowed  on  me !  Of  other  gifts  I  may  be  proud, 
but  Mary  makes  me  humble.  What  am  I  that  this  oeing, 
so  peerless  in  loveliness  and  in  true  nobility  of  soul,  should 
have  been  given  to  me  ?" 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Everard  Irving  returned  to  New 
York,  but  only  to  make  arrangements  for  leaving  it  alto- 
gether as  a  place  of  residence.  A  few  months  of  diligent 
study  enabled  him  to  obtain  admission  to  the  courts  of 
Maryland ;  and  the  reputation  he  had  already  gained  at 
the  bar  of  New  York,  united  to  the  interest  felt  in  him  by 
Mr.  Raymond's  friends,  won  for  him  immediately  some 
practice,  which  his  talents,  his  industry,  and  his  integrity 
could  not  fail  rapidly  to  increase.  He  had  many  reasons 
for  this  change  of  residence,  but  the  most  influential  was, 
that  thus  Mary  and  he  might  continue  to  have  their  home 
at  Elmwood. 

In  that  home — in  the  presence,  not  of  a  careless  throng, 
but  of  a  few  deeply  attached  friends,  among  whom  Mrs. 
Maclaurin,  Mr.  Manelli,  and  Mr.  Beresford  were  the  most 
honored — they  plighted  those  vows  which  would  unite  them 
till  death. 

In  a  conspicuous  part  of  one  of  the  reception-rooms  at 
Elmwood,  hung  Mr.  Manelli's  picture  of  the  death  of  Soc- 
rates. The  likeness  of  the  pictured  Alcibiades  to  Everard 
Irving,  was  less  striking  than  it  had  been  formerly.  Mr. 
Manelli  remarked  this  to  Mary,  but  he  added — "  His  face  is 
more  noble  now,  though  it  is  perhaps  less  beautiful." 

Mr.  Manelli  was  right.  The  auburn  hue  of  Everard  Ir- 
ving's  hair  had  darkened  into  brown,  and  the  brightness 
of  youth,  which  even  the  sorrowful  occasion  could  scarcely 
cloud  in  the  picture,  had  given  place  to  a  more  thoughtful 
and  earnest  expression  in  the  living  man.  The  trials  which 
bad  awakened  his  powers,  had  impressed  something  of  al- 


392  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

most  stern  decision  on  his  countenance  in  repose ;  but  as 
Mary's  eye  turned  to  him  for  a  moment  at  Mr.  Manelli's 
observation,  a  smile  passed  over  his  face — "  How  can  Mr. 
Manelli  say  that  he  is  less  beautiful !"  was  the  thought  that 
smile  awakened. 

Thus  far  we  have  traced  their  life's  journey,  and  here  we 
leave  them.  With  right  principles,  true  affection,  and  an 
earnest  recognition  of  the  claims  of  Heaven  to  their  su- 
preme devotion  and  entire  submission,  what  can  trouble 
their  peace  ? 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  —  Keep  no  watch  in  darkness, 
The  angels  then  are  near." 

MANY  changes  had  the  two  years  which  had  passed  thus 
to  Mary  Raymond,  brought  to  others  whose  names  have 
been  found  upon  our  pages, — for  everywhere  "  time  rolls  its 
ceaseless  course,"  and  the  tide  of  life  sweeps  on,  bearing  to 
each  heart  its  burden  of  sorrow,  or  its  rich  argosy  of  joy. 

Ere  the  autumn  closed  which  had  brought  such  happi- 
ness to  the  mistress  of  Elmwood,  the  once  brilliant  Mrs. 
Mabury  had  been  laid  in  a  darker  and  narrower  dwelling 
than  the  convent  cell  in  which  she  had  spent  nearly  three 
miserable  years.  She  had  sold  herself  to  the  Moloch  of 
revenge,  for  the  one  sweet  draught  by  which  she  had  hoped 
to  slake  the  burning  thirst  of  pride.  Well  had  the  fiend 
counselled.  For  the  lover  of  ease,  the  voluptuary  whose 
heart  was  yet  not  all  insensible,  no  punishment  could  have 
been  devised  so  terrible  as  the  haunting  consciousness  that 
within  the  gloomy  cell  of  a  convent,  with  a  body  worn  by 
austerities  and  a  spirit  burning  with  rage,  was  one  who 
could  accuse  him  of  having  placed  her  there,  and  that  one 
a  being  whose  joyous  nature  had  lent  their  chief  charm  to 
many  years  of  his  existence.  Mrs.  Mabury  in  her  grave 
would  have  been  forgotten — Mrs.  Mabury  in  a  convent  was 
an  ever-present  thought.  She  stood  as  a  threatening  shadow 
between  him  and  the  wife  he  now  truly  loved — she  drove 
him  forth  from  his  home  to  scenes  of  noisy  merriment,  and 
sent  him  back  from  these  to  his  home  with  a  sharper  sting 
at  his  heart.  Mrs.  Mabury's  revenge  was  complete — but 


394  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

what  availed  it  to  her  ?  She  knew  it  not.  Of  the  isolation 
of  her  present  life  she  had  not  dreamed.  And  now  her 
heart,  shut  out  from  all  which  had  made  her  world,  preyed 
on  itself.  The  religious  forms  in  which  her  life  was  passed 
were  to  her  but  forms — dead  forms — a  mockery  of  Heaven, 
a  torture  to  herself.  She  raved  in  secret  at  the  folly  which, 
when  the  world  was  all  before  her,  and  its  pleasures,  save 
the  society  of  Euston  Hastings,  at  her  command,  had  thrown 
all  the  rest  away  in  childish  petulance  because  this  had 
been  denied  her.  Gladly  would  she  then  have  accepted 
the  once-rejected  interference  of  the  American  minister  in 
her  behalf — but  it  was  too  late.  She  had  already  taken 
the  vow  which  separated  her  from  the  world,  and  could 
neither  see  him  nor  communicate  with  him  without  the 
consent  of  her  superior.  Her  nature  was  too  unyielding  to 
be  moulded  into  submission  to  the  terrible  circumstances 
with  which  she  had  environed  herself.  The  heart  which 
will  not  bend,  when  subjected  to  such  circumstances,  must 
break — and  so  did  hers.  And  thus  ended  the  pride  which 
God  condemns,  and  the  world  applauds ! 

Her  death  might  have  remained  long  unknown  in  America, 
but  for  the  vigilant  inquest  into  her  condition  maintained 
by  some  of  her  husband's  relatives  to  whom,  by  his  will, 
his  property  would  revert  after  her  decease.  To  Euston 
Hastings,  the  intelligence  of  it  brought  one  quick,  keen 
pang,  but  that  passed  away,  and  with  it  the  oppressive  sad- 
ness that  had  hung  like  a  dark,  heavy  pall  over  his  mind 
and  heart.  He  felt  like  one  awakened  from  a  nightmare. 

While  he  had  been  brooding  in  remorseful  gloom  over 
the  past,  or  endeavoring  to  escape  in  feverish  excitement 
from  its  haunting  memories,  angel  faces  had  appeared  with- 
in his  home,  and  glad  voices  had  broken  its  stillness.  With- 
in a  year  after  their  departure  from  Paris,  Evelyn  had  given 
birth  to  a  daughter,  and  about  two  years  later  to  a  son. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  395 


The  little  Eva,  for  so  Euston  Hastings  called  his  first- 
born, was  a  fair  child,  with  the  soft  e/es  and  dimpled  cheeks 
of  her  mother,  and  with  all  he:  mother's  loving  heart. 
The  affection  of  this  child  for  ner  grave,  quiet  father,  had 
been  the  subject  of  wondering  observation  to  nurses  and 
nursery-maids,  and  of  sik^t  delight  to  Evelyn,  almost  from 
her  birth.  She  was  a  gentle  child,  and  few  things  moved 
her  to  any  vivacious  demonstration  of  feeling,  but  Ms  en- 
trance was  early  velcomed  by  a  soft,  dove-like  note,  and  an 
eager,  dancing  movement  of  her  hands  and  feet.  She 
would  lie  quietly  for  hours  with  her  head  pillowed  on  his 
bosom,  an<?  when  he  was  compelled  to  resign  her,  though 
she  seldom  cried  aloud,  the  quivering  of  the  little  lip,  and 
the  tenacious  grasp  of  the  baby-hand,  made  a  more  touch- 
ing appeal  to  his  feelings.  That  clinging  baby-touch,  that 
sort  baby-voice,  had  exercised  a  magic  power  over  the 
neart  of  Euston  Hastings,  awakening  the  first  pure,  un- 
selfish love  he  had  ever  known.  To  this  love,  and  to  the 
home  it  brightened,  he  turned  with  new  power  of  enjoy- 
ment, after  the  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Mabury's  death  had  set 
him  free  from  the  torture  caused  by  the  thought  of  her 
living  agonies.  It  was  but  a  few  short  weeks  after  this, 
that  he  sat  reading  one  day  in  the  room  which  Mary  had 
formerly  occupied  at  Beresford  Hall,  but  which  had  long 
been  designated  in  the  family,  as  Mr.  Hastings'  study, 
from  the  fact  of  his  having  removed  his  books  and  papers 
there,  and  spending  many  of  his  hours  there.  He  had  not 
read  long  ere  he  heard  those  little  feet  "  whose  very  step 
had  music  in't"  for  his  ear,  come  pattering  along  the  floor 
of  the  wide  hall,  and  then,  as  they  paused,  a  little  hand 
tapped  at  the  door,  and  a  soft  voice  cried,  "  'Tis  Eve, 
papa." 

He  delayed  for  a  while  to  open  the  door,  that  he  might 
hear  the  sweet  summons  again.  When  admitted,  the 


AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 


child  amused  herself  for  some  time  with  a  book  of  colored 
engravings,  but  at  length  climbed  upon  the  sofa  on  which 
he  sat,  and  saying  in  a  languid  voice,  "  Eve,  tired,  papa" — 
stretched  herself  out  with  hV  head  on  his  knee,  and  soon 
fell  asleep  with  his  hand  strokV^g  her  ringlets.  She  had 
looked  a  little  pale  in  the  mornin^,  but  as  she  slept,  her 
color  deepened  till  her  cheeks  and  Irj*;  were  of  a  carnation 
tint.  Her  breath  came  quick ;  and  whi\  he  was  admiring 
her  beauty,  and  rejoicing  in  what  he  thob^ht  the  glow  ol 
health,  fever  was  rioting  in  her  veins — tht  canker-worm 
was  eating  into  the  heart  of  his  flower.  We  p\ss  over  the 
thrill  of  agony  when  first  he  discovered  the  truth— the  days 
and  nights  of  fearful  watching  beside  the  couch  of  that  be- 
loved sufferer,  during  which  Evelyn — the  fond  Evelyn  to 
whom  her  children  were  as  the  dearer  parts  of  her  o-yn 
being — had  to  become  his  comforter,  and  come  at  once  U> 
those  last  hours,  every  moment  of  which  impressed  itself 
indelibly  on  his  being. 

The  child's  disease  was  scarlet  fever ;  and  as  it  was  be- 
fore the  German  Hippocrates  had  revealed  to  the  world 
the  great  antidote  against  that  poison  with  which  God  has 
furnished  it,  or  at  least,  before  that  revelation  had  been 
widely  received  in  America,  her  case  admitted  little  hope 
from  the  first.  Ten  days  and  nights  of  ever-deepening 
gloom  had  passed,  and  in  the  silent  night,  having  insisted 
that  Evelyn,  who  had  herself  shown  symptoms  of  illness 
through  the  day,  should  retire  to  bed,  Euston  Hastings 
sat  alone  watching  with  a  tightening  heart  the  disturbed 
sleep  of  the  little  Eva.  It  was  near  midnight  when 
that  troubled  sleep  was  broken.  The  child  turned  from 
side  to  side  uneasily,  and  ^oked  somewhat  wildly  around 
her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  my  darling  ?"  asked  Euston 
in  tones  of  melting  tenderness. 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  39"7 

"  Where's  mamma  ? — Eve  want  mamma  to  say,  '  Our 
Father !'  " 

Euston  Hastings  had  often  contemplated  the  beautiful 
picture  of  his  child  kneeling  with  clasped  hands  beside  her 
mother,  to  lisp  her  evening  prayer,  or  since  her  illness  for- 
bade her  rising  from  her  bed,  of  Evelyn  kneeling  beside 
it,  taking  those  clasped  hands  in  hers,  and  listening  to  Eve's 
softly-murmured  words.  Well  he  knew,  therefore,  what 
was  meant  by  Eve's  simple  phrase,  "  To  say  Our  Father." 

"  Mamma  is  asleep,"  he  said ;  "  when  she  awakes  I  will  call 
her." 

"No — no — papa;  Eve  asleep  then." 

"  I  will  call  her  at  once,  then,  darling,"  and  he  would 
have  moved,  but  the  little  hand  was  laid  on  his  to  arrest 

him. 

"  No — don't  wake  poor  mamma ;  papa,  say  Our  Father ! 
for  Eve." 

"  Will  Eve  say  it  to  papa !  Speak  then,  my  darling," 
he  added,  finding  that  though  the  hands  were  clasped  and 
the  sweet  eyes  devoutly  closed,  Eve  remained  silent. 

"  No — Eve  too  sick,  papa — Eve  can't  talk  so  much — 
papa  kneel  down  and  say,  Our  Father,  like  mamma  did  last 
night — won't  you,  papa?" 

Euston  Hastings  could  not  resist  that  pleading  voice ;  and 
kneeling,  he  laid  his  hand  over  the  clasped  ones  of  his  child, 
and  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  murmured  it  with  child- 
ish earnestness  in  his  mother's  ear,  his  lips  gave  utterance 
to  that  hallowed  form  of  prayer  which  was  given  to  man 
by  a  Divine  Teacher.  At  such  an  hour,  under  such  circum- 
stances, it  could  not  be  uttered  carelessly ;  and  Euston  Has- 
tings understood  its  solemn  import — its  recognition  of  God's 
sovereignty — its  surrender  of  all  things  to  Him.  He  under- 
stood it  we  say — but  he  trembled  at  it.  His  infidelity  was 
annihilated;  but  he  believed  as  the  \mreconciled  believe, 
34 


398  CIIAKM3   AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

and  his  heart  almost  stood  still  with  fear  while  "  Thy  will 
be  done  on  earth  even  as  it  is  in  heaven,"  fell  slowly  from 
his  lips. 

Soothed  by  his  compliance,  Eve  became  still,  and  seemed 
to  sleep,  but  only  for  a  few  minutes.  Suddenly,  in  a  louder 
voice  than  had  been  heard  within  that  room  for  days,  she 
exclaimed,  "  Papa — papa — see  there — up  there,  papa  !" 

Her  own  eyes  were  fixed  upward,  on  the  ceiling,  as  it 
seemed  to  Euston  Hastings,  for  to  him  nothing  else  was  vis- 
ible, while  a  smile  of  joy  played  on  her  lips,  and  her  arms 
were  stretched  upward  as  to  some  celestial  visitant. 

"  Eve  coming  !"  she  cried  again.     "  Take  Eve  !" 

"  Will  Eve  leave  papa  ?"  cried  Euston  Hastings,  while 
unconsciously  he  passed  his  arm  over  her,  as  if  dreading  that 
she  would  really  be  borne  from  him. 

With  eyes  still  fixed  upward,  and  expending  her  last 
strength  in  an  effort  to  rise  from  the  bed,  Eve  murmured  in 
broken  tones,  "  Papa  come  too — mamma — grandpa — little 
brother — dear  papa — " 

The  last  word  could  have  been  distinguished  only  by  the 
intensely-listening  ear  of  love.  It  ended  in  a  sigh;  and  Eus- 
ton Hastings  felt,  even  while  he  still  clasped  her  cherub 
form,  and  gazed  upon  her  sweetly-smiling  face,  that  his  Eve 
had  indeed  left  him  forever.  That  she  had  ceased  to  exist, 
with  the  remembrance  of  that  last  scene  full  in  his  mind,  he 
could  not  believe.  Henceforth  Heaven  with  its  angels,  the 
ministering  spirits  of  the  Most  High,  was  a  reality — it  was 
the  habitation  of  his  Eve,  and  his  own  heart  went  longingly 
forth  to  it.  His  proud,  stern,  unbending  nature  had  been 
taught  to  tremble  at  the  decree  of  "  Him  who  ruleth  over 
the  armies  of  hea\en,  and  among  the  inhabitants  of  the 
earth."  The  Being  and  Nature  upon  which  he  had  hiiherto 
speculated  as  grand  abstractions,  became  at  once  unspeak- 
ably-interesting facts.  Would  He  contend  with  him  i» 


CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  399 


wrath  ?  Would  He  snatch  from  him  one  by  one  the  bless- 
ings of  his  life,  crushing  the  impious  heart  which  had  reviled 
His  attributes  and  denied  His  existence?  or  was  He  indeed 
"  so  long -suffering,"  so  "  plenteous  in  mercy,"  that  He  would 
prove  even  to  him  that  His  might  was  the  might  of  a  Sa- 
viour ? 

Such  were  his  thoughts  as  with  still,  concentrated  agony 
he  turned  from  the  grave  of  his  cherished  child  to  watch  be- 
side the  suffering  Evelyn.  She  had  taken  the  terrible  dis- 
ease from  her  little  Eve,  and  lay  for  many  days  insensible  to 
her  own  danger  or  her  husband's  agony.  But  God  was 
merciful,  and  her  husband  and  father  received  her  back  as 
from  the  grave.  The  heart  which  judgment  had  aroused, 


400  CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

life — the  perversions  to  which  he  had  submitted  his  reason 
would  often  rise  like  a  mist  to  obscure  the  faith  by  which 
he  would  thenceforward  have  directed  his  life. 

For  Evelyn,  the  now  fondly-loved  wife — the  cherished 
child — the  happy  mother — life  was  henceforth  full  of  bless- 
ing. If  she  had  lost  some  of  the  joyousness  which  marked 
her  early  days,  it  was  replaced  by  a  serenity  more  stable, 
and  therefore  more  to  be  desired.  The  remembrance  of  the 
past  kept  her  humble  and  prayerful  in  the  midst  of  pros- 
perity. Though  her  evil  had  been  overruled  for  good,  she 
could  not  forget  the  rash,  headstrong  passion  with  which, 
closing  her  ears  against  counsel  and  her  eyes  against  danger, 
she  had  walked  forward  on  her  chosen  path.  She  now  felt 
that  the  "  mere  errors  of  opinion,"  which  she  had  named  so 
lightly,  had  been  as  a  poisoned  fountain  which,  had  not 
Heaven  in  its  mercy  purified  it,  would  have  mingled  its 
tainted  stream  with  'he  whole  current  of  her  life. 


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This  is  one  of  those  attractive  romances  in  which  the  purest  passions  of  the  heart  are  delin- 
eated whh  a  simplicity  of  style  and  an  elevation  of  thought,  that  will  charm  every  reader.  Lore 
in  11*  fulness  and  its  richness,  its  delicacy  and  its  fervor,  is  here  portrayed  with  a  masterly 

tta.Il'.). 

a.  I.JEU*. 

JAMES  MOUNTJOY,  OR  PVE  BEEN 
THINKING. 

An  American  Tale.     I2mo.     Cloth,  75  cents;  paper,  50  cents. 

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reading  a  story  when  we  so  much  regreited  finding  ourselves  at  the  end  of  the  book.  It  aboundi 
with  the  purest  and  deepest  moral  and  pious  sentiments  interwoven  with  scenes  of  every  day 
life,  in  a  manner  that  goes  directly  to  the  heart.  It  is  a  work  of  which  Americans  may  well  b« 
proud."-  Evangelist. 


tfolol 

LIFERS  DISCIPLINE:  A  TALE. 

I2mo.     Paper,  38  cents  ;  cloth,  63  cents. 

•'  This  powerful  tale,  from  the  eloquent  pen  of  Talvi,  will  be  read  with  great  interest.  Th* 
weakness  of  the  human  heart,  and  its  invincible  and  fearless  power,  when  swayed  by  the  deep. 
cst  1  1,1-.-  i,  '  is  of  uur  nature,  are  depicted  in  this  volume  wilh  a  truthfulness  and  a  delicacy  of  touch 
that  i.«  se-".  Jim  surpassed. 


HELOISE;    OR,  THE  UNREVEALED 

SECRET. 

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This  is  a  romance  of  great  power  and  interest.  The  scenes  are  laid  chiefly  in  Germany  and 
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a  tale  it  is  unsurpassed  by  few  either  in  the  development  of  some  of  the  noblest  and  most  self- 
sacrificing  passions  of  our  nature,  the  lofty  sentiments  which  it  expresses,  or  the  thrilling  attrac- 
tions of  its  narrative.  It  is  told  with  much  force  and  beauty  of  language,  and  in  the  rich  diction 
•f  a  German  scholar. 

"  Heloise  is  narrated  with  great  vigor  and  spirit,  with  strong  dramatic  interest,  and  with  th« 
purest  and  not  lest  sentiments  diffused  through  all  its  scenes."—  Mirror. 


22  T).   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY'S   LIST 


THE  EARI]DA  TIGHTER. 

A  Tale.  By  the  Author  of  "  Amy  Herbert?  «  Gertrude?  tyc.  fa 
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cents  ;  cloth,  75  cents. 

"  Ttie  scenes  of  this  work  are  portrayed  with  a  delicacy  and  a  natural  pathos  that  give  ti 
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"  It  is  a  romance  that  the  most  fastidiou*  objector  (o  novel  reading  might  peruse  with  advan- 
tage as  well  as  with  pleasure."—  Worcester  Palladium. 

"•  A  hook  of  high  order  and  rare  interest,  and  worthy  to  rank  among  the  foremost  works  in 
that  class  of  fiction  which  invigorate  but  do  not  intoxicate."—  Commercial  Advertiser. 


.  $.  Jfniitt  Inittljimirtlj. 
THE  DESERTED     WIFE. 

A  Tale.    By  the  Author  of  "  Retribution,  or  the  Vale  of  Shadows." 
Octavo.     Double  columns.     Paper  cover,  38  cents. 

"  In  this  work  we  find  a  most  thrilling  succession  of  incidents,  with  great  ingenuity  in  the 
plot ;  and  the  charmins  moral  of  this  most  fascinating  novel  renders  it  one  of  the  most  agreeable 
that  we  have  ever  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  with."— Daily  Evening  Union. 

"  FW  tenderness  of  sentiment  often  combined  with  heroism  the  characters  in  this  book  are 
peculiar.  It  is  written  in  a  lively  and  natural  style,  and  will  prove  one  of  the  most  attractive 
works  recently  issued  from  the  press." — Journal  of  Commerce. 


&  a. 

THE  CONSPIRATOR. 

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cloth,  75  cents. 

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are  laid  chierty  on  the  Ohio,  and  in  the  South  Western. part  of  the  country."— COOT.  Advertiser. 

'•  This  is  an  exceedingly  interesting  tale.  It  is  written  in  a  rich  anil  powerful  style." — Tour- 
a  yf  Commerce  

&  36.  ffinrtor. 

MORTON  MONTAGUE;    OR,    A    YOUNG 
CHRISTIAN'S  CHOICE: 

,A  Narrative  founded  on  Facts  in  the  Early  History  of  a  Deceased 
Moravian  Missionary  Clergyman,     \2rno.      Cloth,  75  cents. 

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contains  valuable  historical  information.  No  one  can  read  the  book  without  receiving  gratifica- 
'  tion  and  instruction  " — Southern  Lit.  Messenger. 


OF   THEIR   RECENT   PUBLICATIONS.  23 


NORMAN  LESLIE. 

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"Amy  Harrington"  SfC.  fyc.  Paj)er  cover,  50  cents;  cloth, 
75  cents. 

"  A  deeply  interesting  historical  Tale.  The  scene  is  laid  in  Scotland  and  France  durins  the 
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writien." — Journal  of  Commerce. 

"It  is  written  with  much  force  and  vigor  of  style,  and  with  an  elevation  of  thought  and  senti- 
ment very  appropriate  to  the  subject." — Courier  and  Enquirer. 


(Dlinia. 

ELLEN  P  AMR  Y;  ~OR,  TRIALS  OF  THE 
HEART. 

\2rno.     Paper  cover,  38  cents;  doth,  63  cents. 

"The  heroine  is  an  exemplification  of  the  dignity  and  beiuty  of  religious  character  It  is 
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"It  is  worthy  of  perusal  by  all,  and  especially  those  who  desire  to  elevate  the  aiiii  and 
purify  the  heart."—  Evening  Post. 


THE   VILLAGE  NOTARY. 

A  Romance  of  Hungarian  Life.  Translated  from  the.  Hungarian 
of  BARON  EOTVOS,  by  OTH  WENCKSNERN  ;  with  Introductory 
Remarks,  by  FRANCES  PULSKEY.  Octovo.  Paper  cover,  25  cts. 

"  The  style  of  the  book  is  very  pleasing.  There  is  now  and  then  a  dash  of  rich  thought 
•nd  quiet  humor,  and  scattered  all  through  it  are  passages  of  fine  description,  and  houghls  )l 
uncom  -non  beauty."  —  Ilulilen's  Magazine. 

"It  possesses  more  of  the  interest  of  truth  than  of  fiction."—  National  Era. 


HEARTS  AND  HOMES;    OR,  SOCIAL 
DISTINCTION. 

A  Story.     Octavo.      Cloth,  ®1  50.     Paper  covers,  two  Parts,  $. 

"  Of  the  livms  female  authors  of  England,  there  is  no  one  more  widely  or  more  favorably 
known  in  this  country  man  Mrs.  Ellis.  Her  works  are  always  characterized  by  a  depth  of  fee'- 
ins,  an  earnestness  of  spirit,  a  zeal  for  the  right,  a  troth,  freshness,  and  vivacity,  that  render 
them  not  only  interesting  but  instructive.  Her  stories  contain,  as  the  very  end  and  essence  ol 
their  bein",  a  high  and  lofty  sentiment  of  morality,  equal  to  Maria  Edgeworth  or  Hannah  More. 
We  cannot  but  trust  they  will  ever  enjoy  their  present  popularity.  The  present  publication 
^^v.-.j,  ,"  »V,P  m-areo  an-4  <ilir.it»p  nf  h»r  nrnviniiR  writings,  with  ndilml  intowrf  «r»t  valua  •-— 


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Rv  rln                 _           .  v 

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38 
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as 

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75 

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I 

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